Romanov Autumn
by Hermione Eveningfall
Summary: What if Jack Dawson had been born 10 years earlier? How would his story have been different?
1. Chapter 1

Part 1: The Orphans

Chapter 1

One particularly warm summer night, the sky was very clear and filled with stars. Fifteen-year-old Jack Dawson wandered aimlessly home, using the familiar but quiet dirt path. He carried his old, slightly worn leather portfolio under one arm and in his hand a tiny linen pouch of charcoal pencils. Jack was a medium-sized lad, though a bit too skinny for his parents' liking. He had a head of straight, sun-bleached blonde hair and deep, crystal blue eyes.

Yawning, Jack turned a bend, startled by the fact that the air was becoming heavily pungent with the smell of burning wood. Coughing, he glanced up, seeing the clouds of smoke rising over the tops of the trees, and felt his heart skip a beat. The smoke was coming from the direction of his family's farm!

Jack nearly dropped his things as he took off, stumbling over his colt-like legs. He approached the fields, and could see bright red flames spewing out of the window of the old barn. Pieces of the roof were ripping apart, falling to the ground with earsplitting cracks. His eight-year-old sister, Olivia, stood on the porch of the house, screaming at the top of her lungs. She was in her plain linen nightgown, her reddish-gold hair loose and curled at her shoulders. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, and she only stopped when Jack grasped her arms.

"Where are Mama and Papa?" he asked, feeling sick to his stomach. It couldn't be that they were in the barn. They just couldn't be. Maybe they had gone for help. But the terrified look in Olivia's eyes as she hiccoughed told him that, indeed, the horrifying thoughts in his mind were indeed true.

"M-Mama went in," Olivia practically whispered. "We heard Papa yelling for help…and saw the fire f-from the window. Mama thought he might have knocked over the lantern he'd brought with him and…I followed her but…but she made me stay here, and she went in and never c-came back out…" Olivia broke down again, throwing herself onto her brother, burying her face in his cotton shirt. Jack could not tear his eyes from the blaze, at a loss as to what to do or say. The Dawsons lived in a remote area, and they were the only house for at least three miles. Luckily, the fire was not close enough to touch the house.

"We'll have to let it burn itself out," he told her, lifting the child into his arms. "Water won't do a thing at this point."

Olivia chewed on her nails, her eyes now red-rimmed and bloodshot. They were alone; their parents were dead. "Let me go and see exactly what's happening up close. Stay here, Olivia." Jack ran up the hill towards the barn, having to pull his shirt over his mouth and nose. He could not hear any screams, and it would be too risky to attempt to break in and investigate now. "Mother! Father!" he yelled, moving as close as he could without being burned himself. _You already know they won't answer, _a voice spoke inside of his head. Jack's breath caught in his raw throat and he felt his own eyes well up with tears, as though things were starting to sink in.

Jack eventually stumbled back to the house, falling to all fours on the porch and sobbing. The smoke from the fire had been so thick that it was still in his lungs, causing him to continue coughing and choking on it. Olivia knelt down beside him, her small hand on his back, and bent so her head was level with his. "What are we going to do, Jack?" she asked.

He took a deep, trembling breath, looking up at her. "I don't know," he admitted. "We have to go for help. We can't just stay here."

Olivia stared at him. "But it's dark! And the next house isn't for miles!"

Jack smoothed his sister's hair, nodding in understanding. "I know. But you'll be safe with me. And I know you can run, Olivia."

"But…" she protested again, and Jack knelt down, taking her hands.

"Haven't you walked at least four miles to pick blueberries with Mama? And came back and wanted to ride your pony?"

Olivia finally lowered her head, defeated. "Okay."

He pulled her into a tight hug, and pointed towards the door. "I'll help you dress, and we'll go." He glanced over his shoulder at the burning barn, pausing in his steps to cough once more as they entered the dark, empty house. As they walked towards the narrow staircase, Jack had to pause and cough again.

"Are you all right?" Olivia whispered, once he recovered enough to continue.

"I'm fine." He pushed open the door to her room, watching as she scurried inside. After she fetched her play dress, she turned around, her eyes wide.

"Mama said you aren't allowed in my room when I'm not dressed!" Her mouth dropped, her gaze shifting towards the window where the fire was slowly starting to dissolve, though it was still uncomfortably harsh. Jack couldn't remember ever seeing smoke thicker than that in his life. He suppressed another cough, raising his eyebrows, almost amused at how serious his sister sounded with the statement.

"Well," he croaked, "would you like me to leave until you get your dress on? Then I'll button it up."

She nodded, chewing on her nails, and he walked out of the room, shutting the door and leaning back against it. This had to be a dream, all of this. He would wake up in the morning, and his mother and father would still be alive. His mother would be bustling about in the kitchen, preparing breakfast with Olivia at her side, and his father would already be out doing his daily chores on the farm. Jack wiped a trembling hand across his soot-blackened forehead, feeling slightly dizzy. Life without them was difficult to even think about, let alone face.

When Olivia was ready, she attempted to push open her door, realizing that it was stuck. "Jack!" she yelped, pounding it with her fists, causing him to jump and whirl around. He stared at the wooden door before realizing what the noise was, and pulled it open. Unfortunately, Olivia's hand clasped the doorknob at the same time, and the little girl went flying forward to the floor.

"Are you all right?" Jack gasped, while tears filled her eyes, though she did not break into tears.

"Yes," she whimpered, trying to be as stoic as possible as he pulled her to her feet. She turned her back to him so he could button the back of the dress and tie the sash. "What are we going to bring with us, Jack?" she asked, coughing a bit herself as the smell of the smoke drifted through her window.

"Let's bring only basic things…grab another dress and I'll bring another pair of pants, a shirt, and my art things. You can bring a doll if you want."

As soon as they had gathered their things, the children dashed down the stairs and through the front door again, each breaking into yet another fit of coughing. The smoke now spread across the farm, and Jack could barely breathe as they stumbled through it to get to the long, winding road at the edge of the property. "Run!" he ordered, using whatever strength he could muster to get his voice to work properly. Olivia took off as fast as she could, Jack tripping along behind her. For a good five minutes, they did not stop running, until they were far enough away from the house that the smoke was not so thick. Jack truly did not feel well now, for his chest and throat burned and his eyes stung. He could not give up, not until they came to some sign of civilization. He knew the Kramer family lived nearby, for they came every so often to supper by horse and carriage.

At last, when all of his strength seemed to slip away, he collapsed to his knees, gasping and gulping for air. Olivia heard his small cry and whirled around, finding him on all fours, sketchpad and pencil pouch lying beside him. "Jack…" she sobbed, kneeling down just as his eyes rolled back in his head. "Jack! No!" she caught him in her small arms, falling back as he sunk against her, and shook him anxiously. His head lolled limply, and the only sign that he was indeed still alive was the weak up and down movement of his chest.

Olivia slid out from under her brother's body, not knowing what to do. She was all alone, and she had absolutely no idea where the next house was. Jack was possibly very sick, and she could not carry him. She reached up to touch his sweat-soaked forehead as she'd seen her mother do during the natural course of childhood illnesses they'd fought, and found it to be burning hot. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she picked up her fallen doll, hugging it tightly, and gazed down the long, winding road.

She had barely walked a couple of inches when the darkness clouded her own mind, causing her to trip and fall flat on the ground.

Early the next morning, a carriage came bouncing down the road, stopping just in time to avoid running over the two fallen figures. The owner of it, a middle-aged woman with long brown hair tied back into a single braid and covered with a straw hat, pulled the horse to a stop. "Oh, my goodness!" Esther Williams descended to the road, her dark eyes full of concern.

Two children lay amidst the dust and grime, their faces deathly pale. She knelt down beside the boy, who lay furthest away, suddenly causing him to jolt awake. He cried out and began hyperventilating, shaking and trembling. "Shh…my dear, shh…" Esther soothed, realizing he had a terrible fever. "Hold onto me. That's my sweet boy. Very good." For a woman, Esther was very strong, and she managed to carry Jack into the carriage before going back for Olivia. She lived not far away, just a couple of miles from the Dawson farm, and was a widower. Her husband, James Williams, had died just a couple of months before in a sail boating accident. He'd been out on the river with a couple of comrades when a storm had hit, sinking the boat and killing all aboard. After his death, Esther had sold their family farm, due to the fact that she could not afford it, and purchased a comfortable two room flat in town.

Every Sunday, she traveled to the country to visit her husband's grave, and this was one such occasion. Once she lay Jack as comfortably as she could in the carriage, she went to lift the little girl, who murmured and opened her eyes as well. "Mama?" she whimpered through chapped lips, and Esther smiled down at her.

"I am afraid not, child. What on earth where you both doing out here, all alone?"

Olivia swallowed hard as Esther set her down, and glanced at Jack, who had gone under again. "Our barn caught fire," she whispered, the events of the previous night returning in full force. "Our parents died in it."

Esther gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. "Oh, goodness gracious! Oh, my goodness!" She put her hand over her heart, taking the little girl's hand and squeezing it. "My dear girl, I am so terribly sorry…so very sorry. You were coming to get help, I take it?"

Olivia nodded, the tears flowing fast again. "Yes," she sobbed. "My brother Jack and I were going to get help, but he fainted--and he's sick," she added, and Esther smoothed the child's wet cheeks.

"I will take good care of both of you. We will get a doctor for your brother at once…I live in town, and it's a good half hour drive from here. My name is Esther Williams," she added. "What is yours, dearie?"

"O-Olivia Dawson," Olivia replied, holding onto Jack's hand and stroking his damp hair. "This is Jack."

"What lovely names." Esther got back into the driver's seat, taking hold of the horses' reins. "Off we go now…" With a firm "Yah!" the horses began to take off again at a trot in the direction of town.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

With every bump in the road, Jack groaned in pain, and beads of sweat poured down his fever-flushed cheeks. "Help me," he whimpered as another fit of harsh coughing shook his body. Esther closed her eyes, her heart breaking. She barely knew these children, but watching little Olivia cling to her brother's hand and speak in a soothing, almost motherly tone certainly touched her more than words could say.

"We are almost there, sweetheart," the widower encouraged, finding they could not seem to reach town fast enough. By the time it came into view, Jack had fallen unconscious again. Esther pulled the carriage behind her modest apartment, 302 Wellington Avenue, and lifted the ill child into her arms. Jack hung limply, his head bobbing a bit, as she and Olivia climbed the stone steps to the front door.

"Open that for me, will you, dear?" she asked, not wanting to risk dropping Jack. Olivia did as she was told, chewing on her lower lip as she stepped into the lobby. It was a cheery place, with white walls covered in rosebud print. The furniture surrounding them was constructed of light oak, and shimmered in the bright morning sunlight.

Esther carried Jack up the narrow staircase to the fourth floor, where she gave Olivia the key to open the door to 4F. The apartment was medium-sized, with a comfortable sitting room furnished with couches and chairs in a blue-violet oriental fabric. Esther had a small piano by the large window, the top of which was covered with a variety of musical scores.

Olivia followed Esther down the short hallway to one of the bedrooms, her heart racing with anxiety. Mrs. Williams seemed nice enough, but the child could not seem to get her mother's warning about not mingling with strangers out of her head. Still, she knew she would rather be here than in an empty house, and she personally did not enjoy the Krammers' company very much. She watched as the older woman eased Jack out of his damp, dusty clothes, frowning deeply when the thin clouds that rose caused him to cough and sneeze. She rummaged through his small duffle bag to find spare nightclothes, glad the boy had enough sense to pack just enough.

"Good boy. There's my good boy," she soothed, after pulling the pajamas over his head and sliding him carefully beneath the blankets. "We're going to have to fetch the doctor," she told Olivia, who had her hands at her sides and her eyes slightly downcast. "I do not want to send you alone, as you are so young. Would you mind sitting and keeping a close eye on your brother while I fetch him? He's not but couple of buildings down the street."

Olivia nodded, accepting a chair to sit in, and sat beside the sickbed, watching her brother sleep. "I will."

Esther smiled softly as she went to fetch a bowl of lukewarm water and a washcloth, dampening the rag and resting it over Jack's forehead. "Here is another," she added, handing Olivia a dry one. "You may dab at his cheeks and neck like this." She demonstrated the task, and Jack merely moved a bit, his head turning slightly to the side.

"I'll take good care of him," Olivia insisted, and Esther gave her a smile before fetching her coat.

"I shan't be too long." When she left, Olivia took in her strange new surroundings. It felt so cramped, this tiny flat, for she was used to her large farmhouse and plenty of acres to dash around in.

"Where d'you think they are?" Jack's small, weak voice startled Olivia for a moment. She peered down, noticing he had opened his eyes just halfway. His breathing was so labored at the moment that his face contorted in pain every time his chest heaved.

"Who? Mama and Papa?"

Jack nodded. She took his hand, squeezing it gently, feeling like the oldest child for once. "I think they're in heaven with all of the angels."

Jack closed his eyes again, and Olivia felt her lower lip tremble. It was hard to see the boy she admired so dearly suffering this way. Jack had been seriously ill before, but her parents never allowed her to be in the same room. _It is not for you to see, darling. He wants us to tell you he loves you very much, though_. Olivia sighed softly, her gaze drifting towards Monet's famous lily pad painting. It hung on the wall opposite where she sat, the mixture of pastel blues, greens, and pinks mesmerizing her for a moment.

Jack's harsh coughing brought her back to reality, and she eased him into a sitting position.

"I…" he squeaked, and Olivia quickly dashed for the porcelain wash basin on the dresser. Almost instantly, Jack vomited into it, gulping for air. Olivia cringed, turning her head away until he finished.

"I'm so sorry, Jack," she whimpered, as tears began rolling down his cheeks.

"Olivia…" He swallowed as she emptied the basin, and she paused in her work. "I love you…" he managed to gasp out before going under once more.

Esther returned with the doctor soon after. He was a very tall man who reminded Olivia of a very strict preacher. However, his weathered cheeks were rosy, and he smiled at her when their eyes met.

"Has he awakened at all?" Esther asked, urging the child to hop down from the chair.

"Yes," she replied. "But he got sick." She noticed the immediate change in Esther's face, and quickly added, "But into the wash basin, of course."

Esther sighed with relief, placing a hand on Olivia's shoulder. "I'll put on a pot of tea. Come and help me, dear, and let the doctor do his work."

Olivia gave in, though she did not want to leave Jack alone.

"Your brother is going to be fine, darling. Dr. Olen is one of the best." She led Olivia into the tiny kitchen, and pointed out where she kept her box of tea bags, honey, and sugar. Esther filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove, while Olivia set the tea on the counter.

"Thank you, dear. Do you prefer a particular flavor? Apple cinnamon…that's my guess."

Olivia licked her lips and nodded.

"Yes, please. And Jack likes mint."

"Hmm! Interesting!" Esther pulled both tea bags from the box, and retrieved four mugs. Once the water had heated, she put the bags in to steep.

"Honey?" she asked, and Olivia nodded again.

"Yes, ma'am?"

Esther chuckled. "Please, call me Esther. There is no need to be so formal."

Olivia blushed, scuffing her shoe on the floor.

"Thank you, ma'am…I mean, Mrs. Esther."

"Silly doll." Esther tapped her nose and handed her one of the mugs. "Careful now…it's hot."

Olivia trouped into the parlor, blowing on the liquid to cool it down. She clambered onto the piano bench after setting the mug on the coffee table, and placed her small fingers over the black and white keys. She began to play the first notes of a song, feeling her throat choke up. She would never hear her mother or father's voices as they sang that to her, ever again. Their voices were merely memories now, though she could see their faces so clearly that she could almost reach out and touch them.

Esther peeped out from the kitchen doorway, startled at the little girl's skill.

Piano lessons were a must, and possibly voice lessons as well. Eventually, the doctor came out of the sickroom and pulled Esther gently aside. "He is developing a bronchial infection." He spoke in a quiet voice. "The boy's lungs are doing poorly. His fever is high, but give him a cool bath every couple of hours. I'll prescribe a poultice for his chest, which should help to clear him up a bit, but I'm afraid he'll be fairly ill for the next week or so."

Olivia felt her stomach turn to ice when Esther returned to her with a pale face.

"Is he…" Olivia whispered, fiddling with the sash of her dress. Esther looked at the doctor, who smiled as confidently as he could.

"It is in its early stages, so I do not think he will die."

"Early stages of what?" Olivia demanded, stomping her foot. "What is wrong with my brother?"

Esther held out her hand to shush the little girl, and knelt down so she was eye level with her. "He is ill, dear, and will be bedridden for a couple of days."

Olivia bit her lip, sinking to the floor, hunching over slightly.

"Your son has hope, Mrs. Williams," the doctor told Esther, who placed a hand over her heart.

"Oh! These aren't my children. I've just taken them in."

Dr. Olen raised his eyes. "Explain."

"They were running from a house fire, and I found them unconscious on the road."

"A fire?"

Dr. Olen rubbed his chin, as Olivia added, "Our barn burned down and our parents were killed."

"That could have made the boy ill…inhaling too much smoke, especially that thick, could damage the lungs."

Esther folded her arms. "I see." She wet her lips, and put a hand on Olivia's shoulder after helping her stand. "Doctor, thank you for coming." She shook the elder man's hand, and he returned the gesture.

"Of course, Mrs. Williams. I'll write you a prescription to pick up the poultice, and let me know if it works." He scribbled something down on a piece of paper, handing it to the widow, who accepted it and nodded.

"Thank you. Shall I walk you to the door?"

He shook his head. "No, no. I can find my own way. My pleasure meeting you, miss." He tipped his hat to Olivia before heading for the door. When he was gone, Esther smoothed Olivia's hair and raised her fingers before her face. "My dear, you are quite in need of a bath! Let me clean you up, and we'll take care of Jack."

Olivia grumbled under her breath…she despised baths, and always fought her parents when they'd previously tried to give her one. "Don't be silly! You'll not melt." Esther steered her for the bathroom, and began to fill the tub. Once it was ready, she added a bit of lavender-scented soap bubbles, which made Olivia's eyes droop with sleepiness. "The soap is in the dish there…wash yourself while I go and tend to your brother, and I'll be back in a moment to wash your hair."

Olivia nodded, stepping into the warm water, and splashed around a little to get comfortable. Once she leaned against the back of the tub, she heard Jack coughing and his fitful whimpering. _Oh, Jack, _she thought, scrubbing at her skin with the soap. _You must get well. You must._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Jack remained very ill for several days, lying in bed and occasionally crying out in feverish torment. Olivia grew impatient with the situation, still adjusting to the new lifestyle with Mrs. Williams. Oh, she liked the woman well enough, but while her elder sat by her brother's side day in and day out, she grew desperately bored.

"My dear, I am terribly sorry you've nothing to do," Esther apologized as she came into the parlor one particularly miserable afternoon. The child sat on a chair by the window, gazing longingly down at the cobblestone street. "I'm so afraid to leave your brother alone. When he recovers, I promise we will go and make sure to find suitable playthings. Do you enjoy reading?" she added, hoping to spark the child's interest. Olivia shrugged, swinging her legs back and forth.

"I guess so."

"Well, I have some wonderful books you may want to have a look at." She made her way to the set of bookshelves by the far wall, and began searching through the various titles.

Olivia heard Jack coughing from the bedroom, and wanted more than anything for him to be strong enough to play with her again. "If you do not mind much," she broke in, and Esther stopped in her search to glance over her shoulder. "I'd like to continue playing on your lovely piano. I do adore making music." It was true…even at home, she'd play on her mother's small piano, and was even then considered quite talented.

"Of course! Do feel free to help yourself. But here are a couple of books you may enjoy as well. Jack seems to be improving slightly…his fever has gone down considerably since last night, so I do hope he'll be up and about as soon as possible."

Olivia walked over to the coffee table to inspect the texts--_Little Women_, by Louisa May Alcott and _Hard Times_, by Charles Dickens. Also, a collection of poetry by William Wordsworth sat there as well, and Olivia picked it up and began to flip through the worn pages. Esther watched the child, very pleased. Jack's next fit of harsh coughing sent the woman back into the sick room, where she eased the youth into a sitting position, rubbing his back. She fetched the basin from beside her chair, holding it under his head, and frowned as he gagged and spit a mouthful of phlegm into it. He sobbed, clinging to her. "It's all right, my dear. It's all right." She brushed his sweat-soaked bangs away from his eyes, kissing his forehead softly.

When she finally encouraged him to settle down, she listened to the faint sound of music drifting through the hallway. Olivia played Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_ as though it were second nature to her. Jack's eyes opened again at the noise, and he tightened his grip on the edge of the comforter. "I miss my sister," he whispered, so faintly that Esther could scarcely hear him.

"What was that, dear?" Esther smoothed his hot forehead, brushing his bangs back. Jack repeated his statement, though speaking took a lot of strength from him. "Would you like to have her sit with you for a while? I know she misses you dreadfully."

Coughing, Jack nodded, and Esther gave him a small kiss before walking into the parlor. "Olivia, your brother wants you," she announced, and the child stopped playing the piano in surprise.

"He does?" she asked, and Esther nodded.

"Okay." Olivia hopped down from the piano bench and went to her brother's room, where he lay waiting patiently for her. He managed a weak smile when she sat down next to him, and she took his hand. "Would you like me to read to you?" she asked, wanting to do anything to ease her brother's discomfort.

"I would like that," he croaked, and Esther went to fetch one of the books from the table.

"Here you are." She handed the book to the girl, and Olivia thanked her.

"I'll be resting on the couch in the living room if you need me at all." When she left, Olivia clambered onto the bed and lay down next to her brother. He turned his head so he could face her.

"I will get better," he insisted as she snuggled against him.

"Oh, Jack, Jack…you have to, you have to!" she sobbed quietly. "Oh, Jack, I miss Mama and Papa so. I miss the farm, and all the animals, and the flowers, and…" Tears fell down her cheeks, dripping onto the sleeve of his nightshirt. "I'm so lonely, and so bored here…Mrs. Esther is a nice lady, but I...oh, I want to go home!"

Jack managed to kiss her forehead and squeeze her hand. "Well, it's only been a week. I'm sure things will become easier when I'm well, you know."

"Oh, Jack, do you think she'll make us go to an orphanage when you get better? Oh, I'd hate to live in such a place!"

Jack shrugged. He hadn't given much thought to anything in the past couple of days. Well, the only thoughts going through his mind were that he wanted to be out of bed. But that wasn't going to happen for a little while, he knew. Olivia sat up against the headboard, cracking open _Little Women_. She was just about to start reading when Jack sneezed violently twice, which suddenly caused a slight nosebleed.

"Mrs. Esther!" Olivia cried, grabbing a handkerchief and trying to stop the flow. Esther rushed into the room and saw the blood dripping onto the comforter.

"Oh, Jack," she gasped, and rushed over to the bedside. "Olivia, find as many handkerchiefs as you can…go to the icebox and take out a piece…that may be able to stop this."

Jack held the handkerchief against his nose, watching as his sister hurried from the room. Olivia searched through the metal icebox, finding a large enough piece that was satisfactory. She wrapped it in the extra cloth Esther had given her and got it back into the room before too much dripped onto the carpet.

"It was not too bad of a nosebleed," Esther told her, sighing with relief as she resorted to only one hanky this time. "It just needed a bit of pressure. But here, let me see if we can stop the last of it with ice. I do remember being taught this." She very gently and carefully removed the bloody handkerchief and put the smallest corner of ice against the spot. Jack yelped from the sudden cold, and Esther soothed him with comforting words.

"You have quite the sneeze for a boy your size," she teased lightly once his nose had been cleaned up and he was lying down again.

"He always does." Olivia giggled, and Jack stuck his tongue out.

"Be quiet," he snapped, and Esther chuckled.

"All right, loves."

"Esther…" Olivia wet her lips. "Um…will we be living with you for real after Jack is better, or will you put us into an orphanage or something?"

Silence filled the room as both children looked at her imploringly.

"Oh, my dears, I would never do such a thing to you! However, I must ask…do you know of any relatives who are still alive that may have any interest of taking you in? Lawfully, I am not able to take you in unless all relatives are deceased or unwilling to do so."

Olivia thought for a moment. She knew that their grandparents on both sides were dead, and her mother had only one brother, who did not want anything to do with them. Her father had been an only child, so the Dawson family was very small. When she told Esther this, the older woman smiled thoughtfully. "Well, before anything is decided, we must speak with the court and make sure I will be considered an appropriate guardian for you."

"I would like it very much if we could live with you," she admitted.

"Oh, dear, I would love it as well. But I would hate to be in any kind of legal trouble, you know."

The children nodded, and Esther felt Jack's forehead. "Your fever has gone down considerably since yesterday. Would you like a bowl of broth, perhaps?"

Jack sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. "Maybe," he admitted, and she planted a kiss on top of his head. "I'll be back soon. Olivia, would you like something? A sandwich, perhaps?"

"Yes, please," Olivia replied, and Esther bustled off once again.

"I can't really smell anything." Jack sighed as he attempted to clear his nose with a fresh cloth. He wrapped the quilt more tightly around his body, and his teeth chattered. "I'm still so cold, too."

Olivia quickly took the book into her hands and re-opened it. "I'll read to you like I was going to," she offered, and Jack closed his eyes again.

Esther stood by the stove once again in the kitchen, stirring the soup in the pot, and gazed into its depths with a contemplative expression on her face. She remembered, when her husband was still alive, how badly the two had wanted children. No matter how hard they had tried, nothing came of it, and they were often disappointed. Finding these two orphans was an answer to several years of prayer, Esther knew. She hummed to herself as she put the different ingredients into the pot, and prepared herself for when the time to speak to the lawyers arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack began to recover a week or so later and eventually was moved from the bedroom to the parlor. Olivia carried his sketchbook, and placed it on his lap once he was comfortable. "Thank you," he told her hoarsely, coughing. Esther took a seat in her rocker, her expression thoughtful.

"Tomorrow, I think, or at least as soon as possible, we need to take a trip to the courthouse. I want to have this business cleared as quickly as it can be."

Jack looked at her curiously. "What business?" he asked, having been fairly out of it the last time she mentioned the idea of their adoption.

"Esther wants to adopt us, Jack! We won't have to go to an orphanage at all! Isn't that wonderful?" Olivia grabbed his hands, which were slowly regaining their usual warmth. He smiled weakly, and nodded. Anything was better than being thrown into a single room with crowds of boys, hardly any privacy, and outrageously strict rules. Then again, probably living with this woman wouldn't be much better in the rule area, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about being left behind while other boys were chosen.

"Thank you," he told her, and Esther chuckled.

"Well, don't thank me until the matter is settled, dear. I'm not sure how long this will take, because there are quite a few loopholes when it comes to the adoption situation. I was talking to your sister, and she said you have very few relatives still living."

Jack pursed his lips. He knew his father had been an only child, and his mother belonged to a large family. However, there were certain circumstances about his mother's side that he did not want to tell Olivia yet. Especially not in front of Esther, whom he'd barely gotten to know. "I only told her about our uncle, Jack. I don't know about any others, because Mama and Papa never talked about them."

"Do you know of anyone else, Jack?" She watched as Olivia climbed onto the couch, snuggling beneath the blanket. Jack held her close, stroking her sienna-brown curls. Esther sat in her favorite rocker, putting a pair of spectacles on her nose.

"No," Jack answered, and from what he knew, that was technically true.

"What was your husband like?" Olivia changed the subject as Jack opened his sketchbook. His crystal blue eyes focused on his sister as he began to draw her, shading in her most prominent features. His hand flew over the paper, like wind blowing over water.

"He was not exceedingly handsome," Esther began, sipping from her teacup. "And rather short and plump. He was balding and had gray hair, with a round, rosy face."

"Like Santa Claus! Did he have a beard?" Olivia asked, and Jack pursed his lips to keep from laughing out loud. Esther, however, did laugh.

"No, not quite. But, oh, what a darling he was! We met at an auction…where I bought this old chair, actually, and we immediately fell for each other."

Jack suddenly sneezed, startling Olivia, who shrieked in surprise.

"Bless you, dear!" Esther found a spare handkerchief, which he accepted without argument. "Where did you get those awful sneezes from? You're such a small boy!"

Olivia burst into giggles, hiding her hands behind her mouth. Jack glared at her, sticking out his tongue, and she merely returned the gesture. "I don't know," he admitted, and leaned back against the couch with a groan. "I'm not feeling so good again," he muttered, his entire body aching.

"Here…let's bring you right back to bed, love. We'll only go to the attorney tomorrow if you're feeling better." She went to feel his forehead, frowning.

"You are a little warm again. Olivia, hop down, darling."

Olivia did as she was told, and helped Jack to his feet.

"I can walk," he told them, not wanting help. Both hesitated, but stepped away all the same. He took a deep breath, and made his way very carefully towards the guest room. Esther walked closely behind him, just in case he happened to stumble, but he didn't.

"Well done," she complimented, once he was back in bed. Jack managed to get the hanky in place before he sneezed again, wanting to be left alone with his misery for the moment.

"Bless you. Would you like another mug of tea? That might help." Esther clicked her tongue. Jack looked so disgruntled that she decided it would be best to leave him be for a while. "All right. We'll let you alone for a bit so you can get some rest." Esther led Olivia out of the room, and Jack watched as they disappeared through the door.

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He missed his parents horribly, feeling angry that they had to perish in such a terrible way. The vision of the smoldering barn filled his mind, and he felt tears fill his eyes. Just the night before the fire, he and his father sat on the porch naming the different star patterns.

_"Look, Jack," Mr. Edward Dawson told his son, pointing up at the ink black sky. Jack raised his head, noticing a shooting star. "That's a big one," Mr. Dawson explained. "Make a wish, son."_

_Jack closed his eyes, and opened them after a moment. "Okay," he whispered, and his father gave him a hug._

_"I hope whatever you wished for comes true," the elder man told Jack, who merely smiled and drew his knees up to his chest. The night was so peaceful, only the sound of a gentle breeze blowing through the trees and the sound of crickets chirping._

Jack allowed the tears to fall freely at last, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed quietly. Eventually, he sobbed himself to sleep, amidst a feverish haze.


	5. Chapter 5

Two days later, Esther took Olivia and Jack, who was nearly fully recovered, to the local courthouse. Jack coughed hard every so often, still finding that he felt weak and exhausted. "You're all right," Esther encouraged, rubbing his back once they were seated in the lobby of the large building. Jack nodded, but only started coughing again.

"Would he like a glass of water, Ma'am?" the secretary asked, frowning as the coughing continued.

"Please," Esther replied, feeling a cold wave of fear fill her body. Jack took the glass of water from the stranger once she brought it over, and downed most of it in three gulps. The water helped considerably, and he managed a weak "Thank you" afterwards.

"You're welcome. Mr. Wagner will be with you in about five minutes." She smiled at them, and went back to her desk to continue typing. At last, the lawyer came to them, dressed in an awful yellow suit.

"Good afternoon. I am Joseph Wagner." He shook hands with each of them, and led the way to his office. "Now, I hear you wish to adopt these children, Mrs. Williams?"

Esther nodded, following him through one of the oak doors. Inside, there was a long desk with several chairs surrounding it. The single window was open a crack, and a warm breeze flowed through, ruffling Olivia's curls as she sat down in the chair closest to it.

Jack sat next to her, fiddling in his new gray suit. The high-collared, crisp white shirt and tie choked him, and he squirmed impatiently in his seat. Esther touched his shoulder, raising an eyebrow in warning, and Jack tried to settle down as best as he could.

"Yes…I was not certain of what steps I would need to take before the adoption became legal."

Mr. Wagner smiled at her, and folded his large hands on the table. "Well, unless you are a blood relative of these children, you technically have no right to them at all. The only exception to the rule is if there are no other family members who would be willing to take them in, whether they be dead or otherwise."

Esther cleared her throat and glanced at Olivia, who was chewing on the corner of her nail, swinging her feet and bouncing. "Olivia, dear, stop fidgeting, please," she ordered, and the child turned to her, blushing a little.

"Our parents died in a fire, sir," Jack explained, "and my father was an only child…both of his parents are dead. My mother, well…" He wet his lips, not sure if he should continue, feeling his heart racing. He was hoping not to bring up his mother's situation at all, but there was no way around it.

"Go on," Mr. Wagner encouraged, motioning with his hand to encourage the boy to keep talking. Esther was watching Jack, trying to appear as calm and collected as possible.

"Well, my mother's family is Amish."

Olivia gasped, whirling around…she certainly hadn't been expecting this!

"And?" Mr. Wagner asked, clearly unsure of why this was such a bad thing. No doubt the more children an Amish family could obtain, the better it was for their farm.

"And when my mother met my father, she decided to leave her family, because she decided she preferred the modern way of living. Her father was very against the idea, because my father was upper middle class…he did not believe in marrying outside of their class, you see, and he permanently disowned her. They wanted nothing to do with her. So I am certain they would not want to take us in."

Olivia wet her lips, the pieces starting to fall together. No wonder she never heard about her mother's side of the family! Mrs. Dawson would instantly change the subject if she asked about her grandparents, and she always found it rather odd.

The adults were very quiet for a moment or so, and Mr. Wagner nodded in understanding. "I see. Well, this certainly changes things. In other circumstances, we would need written proof that the family members do not wish to take you in, but I know the Amish prefer to be left to their own kind."

Esther held her breath…she watched as Mr. Wagner turned his gaze to her again. "If you come back in the morning," he added, "I will have the official paperwork ready for you to sign."

She felt faint…at last, she would have the children she'd always dreamt of. It was all she could do to keep from picking Jack up in her arms and swinging him around.

"Thank you so much," she replied, shaking his hand firmly. "What time should we arrive?"

"I would say around nine o'clock. I don't have any other appointments until later in the afternoon, so the earlier you can arrive, the better."

Esther could hardly keep herself from grinning. "Thank you. We shall see you at nine o'clock, then."

"Shall I show you out?" Mr. Wagner asked, and she shook her head.

"No, I believe we'll be all right."

"Have a good afternoon, Mrs. Williams." He gave a small wave, and Esther brought the children into the lobby. It was only when they reached the sidewalk that Esther practically attacked the children with enormous hugs. Jack gasped for air, startled, as she kissed his cheeks and forehead. Olivia was squealing with excitement and clapping her hands.

"I knew it would be all right! Oh, this is lovely!" she exclaimed, and she allowed Esther to swing her around, so the both of them were laughing. Jack was not in the mood to laugh…he stood watching, his expression more indifferent than anything. His old life was over, the life he'd been so accustomed to.

"Aren't you excited, Jack? We get to live with Mrs. Esther now!"

"Yes," Jack replied, though not with as much feeling as he probably should have. He managed a smile, and nodded to Esther. "Now I can thank you," he added, and she chuckled.

"No thank yous are necessary, dear. Now, before we go back home, I do think it's time to shop for new clothes and things. That is, unless the both of you would like to return to your home and pick up whatever remaining supplies you have in your rooms?"

Jack looked down at his feet. The last thing he wanted to do was relive the vivid memory of the fire in person, and Olivia felt the same. "No," he answered seriously. "I don't want to go back." _Never, _he added silently. He would never go back there again.

Another moment of awkward silence passed amongst the new family, and Esther clasped her hands together. "Well, that settles the question. Off to the tailor we go!" She ushered Jack and Olivia down the main street of town, excusing herself as a couple squeezed between them.

"Where will I sleep now that we're going to live with you?" Olivia asked. Esther only had two bedrooms, and Jack had obtained the guestroom due to his illness.

"I'll have to purchase a second bed for the guestroom. I'm afraid I had to settle for conditions suitable and affordable for myself when I moved into that house…I hadn't even thought of adopting two children."

"I understand."

"You would not mind sharing a room with your sister, would you, Jack?" Esther asked, and Jack blinked, having been staring blankly ahead as he walked.

"What?" he asked, and Esther repeated her question. "Oh, no, I don't mind."

"He snores," Olivia whispered, and Jack tugged on her hair.

"I do not!"

"You wouldn't know, of course, because you're sleeping when you're doing it!"

"Please do not bicker," Esther told them, and found the shop. A small tinkle from bells hooked to the corner of the door filled their ears as they stepped inside, and both children were hit with the strong smell of leather and other materials. The store was medium-sized, containing an assortment of fabric bolts, which Olivia took pleasure in hiding behind and between. She jumped out and startled Jack twice with boos that sent her into a fit of giggles when he'd attempt to grab her.

"Children, please!" Esther warned, as the tailor, a middle-aged, clean-shaven man with thick black hair, appeared from the back room.

"This is so soft," Olivia breathed, touching a roll of soft cotton fabric. Jack watched as Esther began telling the tailor what she needed, pointing to Jack every now and again.

"Shall I bring you back to be measured?" the tailor asked, and before Jack could answer, he was whisked away. Esther led Olivia to one of the empty seats, and the two females sat down to wait patiently.

Jack stood in front of a mirror, holding his arms out to the sides, watching as the tailor used a white measuring tape to find out his clothing size. "Long legs and arms. Five foot three inches tall…eight inches wide…"

Jack lowered his arms when told to do so, and shifted awkwardly. "Let me guess. Earth tones suit you…browns, grays, blues, black?"

"Yes. Well, brown and blue, but I like tan also." One color Jack knew he hated was yellow, though his parents had attempted to put him in a yellow suit of his own for one special occasion. It had taken his mother several minutes to stop laughing at how ridiculous he looked, and he smiled a little at the memory.

"Good, good. Well, follow me, young man, and I'll allow you to pick out the fabrics you would feel most comfortable in."

Esther and Olivia grinned as he approached them, and Esther joined Jack so she could help him pick out the least expensive but most comfortable material. They tried this on and that, until Jack felt a great urge to run away. At last, they made final decisions, and the tailor added the prices of the fabrics, which he presented to the woman. "I will have the clothing delivered to you within two days," he told her, and Esther nodded, pocketing the receipt.

"Thank you, Mr. Daniels. Come along, now, and to the seamstress."

Jack was grateful to get out into the fresh air, tagging along beside his sister, who sang cheerfully and skipped along the sidewalk. "May I have a purple dress made, please? Purple with yellow flowers on it? And I like blue, and green!"

Esther laughed once they reached the seamstress. "We'll see what they have, dear. Go on. Don't be shy! Miss Evenport is a very friendly young woman, and I do think…"

"Esther Williams!"

The children jumped at the sudden cry of delight, and watched as a tall, thin lady came out from behind the counter. She had long, blonde hair, which she kept in a braided bun on top of her head. She wore a deep brown dress with a tan front, and a corsage pinned to her breast. "Lucy Evenport. I do not come in often enough anymore, do I?" Esther grinned as Lucy stepped back to examine the new arrivals.

"Niece and nephew?" she asked, and Esther shook her head.

"She adopted us, Ma'am," Olivia explained, and Lucy gasped.

"Oh, how wonderful! And what are your names, dear?"

Jack found himself smiling again as Lucy shook his hand firmly. "Jack. And this is my sister, Olivia."

"Well, it is my pleasure! So, let me guess, you are the lovely little victim I have to work with today?"

Olivia giggled and nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

Lucy gave a small, "Pfffft! I am not a ma'am. Please, call me Lucy."

"You have a pretty name," Olivia complimented, and Lucy nodded.

"Why, thank you! And I return the compliment to you, darling. Now, let me bring you to the back for measurements, and we'll get started. I've just received a wonderful assortment of new fabrics, which I am selling at a bargain!"

Jack yawned and went to sit down on one of the seats, leaning his head against the wall. He felt exhausted…he could fall asleep right there. In fact, he did, and it wasn't until he felt someone shaking him that he even realized it. "Jack, wake up. Sweetheart, it's time to go," Esther whispered, and he looked at her wearily.

"I can't. I'm so tired," he told her, and instantly her hand connected to his forehead.

"No fever."

"Is everything all right?" Lucy asked, approaching them with the bundle of fabric in her arms.

"Oh, yes, everything's fine. Come on, love, lean on me." Esther helped Jack to his feet, and, after accepting the receipt, she brought the children outside. "I am afraid you are going to be rather tired for a little while," she added, as they began their walk home. "Especially since you've only just recovered."

Jack coughed, nodding in understanding. They eventually made it back to the apartment, and Jack went to lay back down on the couch. "I'll make us some supper," she told them, frowning as Jack began coughing again. She would have to send for the doctor if the cough did not go away by the end of the week—or at least sound better.

Olivia sat down at the piano and began to play _Amazing Grace_. Her small voice sang smoothly, effortlessly, and Esther felt her eyes misting.

"…'_tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home_."


	6. Chapter 6

_A Year Later_

"Olivia, hurry up, or you're going to be late for school!" Jack called impatiently, watching as his sister finished getting ready. Olivia pulled her hair up in a ribbon, hopping on one foot as she attempted to get her shoes on at the same time. About a month following the official adoption of the Dawson children, Esther had insisted that both children either attend school or work…she refused to let them sit about idly.

"I'm coming! I'm sorry," she gasped, stumbling down the narrow hallway towards the parlor.

"Be careful or you'll hurt yourself," Jack warned, smiling as she collapsed against him after a few moments of struggling. She grinned, slightly embarrassed, as he helped steady her, and Esther bustled into the room from the kitchen.

"Breakfast is on the table, dears. Hurry up and sit down before it gets cold!" She watched as they entered the kitchen, and stood by herself, shaking her head as she heard them chattering behind the wall. They both had adapted well to their new surroundings. Well, somewhat. Jack was a very restless teenager, always wanting to be on the move. As he had completed his general education, or according to his original family's expectations, he insisted to Esther that he was ready to go in search of a job. One of the local hotels hired him as a bellboy, paying him a fair enough wage. Esther herself had been lucky enough to inherit a rather nice fortune from her husband, and had no need of a job.

However, she hated the idea of sitting in the apartment by herself all day long, so she worked on occasion with Lucy Evenport at the dress shop. Not quite the work equipped for her status, but she was such good friends with the woman that she enjoyed it very much.

"Have you done all of your schoolwork, dear?" she asked as she entered the kitchen, just as the children had finished scarfing down their food. Olivia nodded, holding up her blackboard slate. One side was covered in math problems, and the other with difficult spelling words. "Jack helped me study them last night," she explained, beaming at her brother, who smiled back.

"Very good. Jack, you will accompany your sister to school, will you not? I am due at the shop in about a half an hour, so I will not be able to take her. She is right on your way to the hotel."

"Yeah." He nodded, and Esther kissed the top of his head.

"Thank you, dear."

Once they had helped clear away the dishes, Jack and Olivia shouted their usual good-byes to Esther on their way out the door. "Have a good day! Jack, try not to run too much!"

Jack groaned as he heard the door shut behind him. About two weeks after he'd recovered from bronchitis, the doctor had found that he had asthma as well. He couldn't run much without feeling as though an elephant were sitting on his chest, and it bothered him a great deal. There was not much to be done for it either, only taking a pill which took a very long time to actually go into effect. The most he could really do was take it as easy as possible. That was why the job as a bellboy had been the most appropriate available in the tiny town.

"Jack, slow down," Olivia panted as they hurried down the street, and he stopped to wait for his little sister to catch up. "Your legs are longer than mine!" she added, when she reached him.

"Sorry," he apologized, allowing her to hold onto his hand.

"You always look like you want to run away somewhere," she added, once she began breathing normally again.

Jack closed his eyes for a moment. What he wouldn't give to cut out of this place…he always dreamt of traveling the world. He wanted to go as far west as California, then to Europe. He wanted to focus solely on his art, to become famous, for art was the only thing that made him happy. He felt trapped in his place now, and with the money he was making, he could easily afford a train ticket. "Jack?" Olivia called, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Huh?" He blinked.

"You just sort of stopped."

"Well, I'll talk to you about it later, Olivia. We're here, so you'd better go on in." He walked her up to the front door of the schoolhouse, hugged and kissed her, and watched as the teacher lured her inside with a single motion of his arm. After the door shut with a bang, Jack blew out his breath, preparing himself for another day of fussy hotel guests. He glanced down at his uniform--navy slacks and a red coat with black buttons. He wore a crisp white shirt underneath, as well as an odd-looking hat, which he kept in the employee room.

"Oh, good. You're here," Mr. Jacobs breathed as Jack came out into the lobby of the elegant hotel, watching as his boss ran towards him. "Jerome and Thomas called out, so it's just you and Adam this afternoon. We have several residents checking out within the next hour, with at least two or three bags apiece. Do you think you'll be able to handle that?"

Jack hesitated. "Well…I should be," he admitted, and Mr. Jacobs beamed, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Good man. Just take your place as usual, and be ready by 10:30."

"Got it." Jack nodded to his boss, walking over to the main door where the other bellboy stood, looking bored out of his mind. "Morning," he greeted, and Adam glanced over.

"Hey, Jack. I guess Mr. Jacobs told you the situation?"

"Yeah. Looks like we're going to have an interesting day, huh?"

"Excuse me. How would I go about getting a room?" Jack held the door open for a young woman…tall and thin with blonde hair pinned high in a French twist. She wore a royal blue dress and a white fur coat over the top. She carried a white suitcase, which Adam offered to help carry for her.

"I'll bring you right over to the desk, Ma'am, and all you have to do is just fill out some paperwork. We're having some guests leave today, so there should be enough rooms available. How many nights were you planning on staying?"

Jack listened as Adam's voice dwindled, and he turned to face the street again. The town seemed to grow smaller and smaller every day, making him feel as though it were closing in on him. He leaned against the glass door, feeling slightly short of breath. _Don't do this to me now, _he thought, swallowing past a very dry throat. _I just got to work. At least wait a few hours!_

When Adam returned, he gave his friend a concerned look. "You just got really pale, Jack. Are you all right?"

Jack blinked. "What? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He coughed, straightening up as best as he could. "Why did the other two call out? Do you know?"

"Nope. Figures, doesn't it? Sons of bitches…and they just started, too!"

Jack managed a smile. He'd only been working at the hotel for two weeks, and, for a rather low-paying job, he did enjoy it. He enjoyed watching the different people walking in and out, some with children, some without. The children usually walked past him with open mouths and wide eyes until their parents would shoo them on. Adam had been working at the hotel for three months, and found the job to be quite a bore. Jack wondered if his interest in the job and the people had anything to do with his talent for art. He wished he could bring his sketchpad and pencils, because it would be a never-ending variety of subjects.

For the next hour or so, people continued to stroll through the double doors, asking the usual questions or merely saying "Hello, there."

Jack and Adam passed the time talking, and were so involved in their conversation that they nearly ignored Mr. Jacobs, who approached them.

"Mrs. Ellis is on her way down…boys…boys!"

The chatter stopped immediately, and both teenagers looked at their boss in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, sir," Jack apologized, and Mr. Jacobs frowned.

"Don't make me separate you. This is not the time or place for foolishness. Do I make myself understood?"

"Yes, sir," Adam promised. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Good. Now, as I was saying, Mrs. Ellis is preparing to check out, and has three suitcases she'll need help carrying down to the lobby…her husband is coming to pick her up in about a half an hour. Jack, I'll assign you to Mrs. Ellis, and Adam, Miss Corey is waiting for help as well. Jack, your room assignment is 302, and Adam—516. Go on, boys, and make it as quick and efficient as you can."

Jack and Adam hurried for the stairs, panting by the time they reached Jack's floor. Jack managed a small wave to his friend as he pushed the door open to the corridor and began to walk towards the room. A middle-aged woman dressed in a rather simple gray dress with a gray overcoat stood waiting for him, and several suitcases sat around her.

"Ah…wonderful!" she exclaimed, her full red lips pulling into a big smile. Her long, graying hair was pulled into a single braid down her back. "Don't be silly, dear. I don't mind waiting if you want to make a few trips," she insisted, watching as Jack attempted to lift all three suitcases at once. They were fairly heavy, but he was determined to impress the guests and his boss…he could not afford anything that would cause him to lose his job, especially if he was thinking of leaving the state soon.

"I've got it, Ma'am. Don't worry," Jack gasped, his chest starting to tighten up on him again as he led the way down the hall.

"How old are you, dear?" Mrs. Ellis asked, once they reached the steps, and stopped so Jack could take a small break before descending.

"Sixteen," he replied, and she blinked.

"I would never have guessed…you have such a young face! I'd have said at least fourteen."

Jack frowned, but said nothing. "Let me get that for you," Mrs. Ellis insisted, holding the door as he struggled to drag the trunks through it. "Are you sure you don't want me to take at least one? I don't mind at all," she asked, in almost a begging voice.

"I have it," Jack managed to croak, nearly missing the first step.

"Oh!" She cried when the trunks fell to the next platform, and caught him before he joined them. "Please, be careful! I'll take this one. It's the lightest, I assure you."

Jack was heaving now, his face ghastly white. "Sit down," she insisted, easing him onto the step, and joined him. "Take slow breaths, love, that's it."

"'M sorry," Jack apologized, his voice barely a whisper. "I can get up. I just need to sit down for a second." He forced himself to his feet, his head spinning from lack of proper oxygen. Mrs. Ellis watched, her face filled with worry as he managed to get down the stairs and lift the bags again. Thankfully, Mr. Jacobs had assigned him to the third floor…he surely wouldn't have made it if he had been on the fifth.

Mrs. Ellis carried one of the bags, keeping close behind Jack in case he happened to stumble again, growing more concerned at his continuously labored breathing.

"Jack?" Mr. Jacobs asked, noticing his employee after the door to the lobby opened, and blinked when the boy merely collapsed, unconscious. Several people rushed over to see if he was all right, and Mrs. Ellis got down on her knees, giving him a gentle shake.

"Dammit," Mr. Jacobs cursed under his breath, joining the crowd. "Jack, come on, boy, wake up," he begged, tapping Jack's white cheeks. Adam came into the lobby at that moment, and nearly dropped his resident's luggage. "Adam, go and fetch the doctor!" he ordered, and the boy did not hesitate.

"Is he going to be all right?" Miss Corey asked, smoothing Jack's bangs away from his eyes.

"He seems to be asthmatic, from what I could hear," Mrs. Ellis added. "He was struggling to breathe carrying the bags."

"He is asthmatic," Mr. Jacobs murmured, "but I told him not to overexert himself if he could help it when I hired him." He, along with the help of another male guest, managed to carry Jack over to one of the comfortable couches by the window. Mrs. Ellis used a spare newspaper as a fan, and began waving it over the boy's face.

Jack's eyes finally fluttered open, but he didn't officially wake up until he sneezed loudly.

"Bless you," several of the strangers told him, and Mrs. Ellis offered a handkerchief. "Are you all right?" she asked, once he was sitting up. Mr. Jacobs brought him a glass of water, and watched while he took it down in several gulps.

"Yeah," Jack muttered, his head still pounding.

"What do you think you were trying to do, boy? How many times have I told you about trying to take too much at once?" Mr. Jacobs asked after Jack's vision focused properly.

"Quick and efficient," Jack managed to reply, before sneezing again.

Mrs. Ellis glanced at Mr. Jacobs, and shook her head. "You might want to send him home for the day, sir…he'll need to recuperate after this."

Jack's eyes widened. "Oh, no…don't, I'll be fine…"

"We'll see what the doctor says," Mr. Jacobs replied, nodding, and Jack felt his cheeks burning. It was bad enough that he'd fainted in the middle of the lobby, but to have the doctor come and inspect him at work was even worse. Esther would never let him hear the end of it, he was sure.

Mrs. Ellis glanced out the window of the hotel, and stood. "I would stay, but my husband's pulling down the street, so I must get going. I hope you feel better soon, dear, and don't feel obligated to return that." She nodded to the handkerchief, and Jack smiled at her.

"Thank you," he insisted, just as Adam entered the building with Dr. Owen. _Oh, no, _he thought, wanting to sink through a hole in the floor. The crowd, thankfully, had dispersed, and the old doctor chuckled warmly.

"Well, well, well. Jack Dawson. Why am I not surprised?" he asked, and Mr. Jacobs signaled for Adam to leave them alone.

"I'll be fine, Adam," Jack insisted, noticing his friend's expression as he glanced over his shoulder after walking away. "Doctor Owen, I'm fine…it was just…"

"Don't talk now," Doctor Owen insisted, pulling out his stethoscope. "Overworking yourself again, are you?"

Jack groaned, taking a deep breath when the doctor instructed. "This is humiliating." He sighed.

"Sometimes lessons need to be learned the hard way, lad. Well, your breathing is still a bit uneven…not quite up to par. And your pulse is quick. I think we'd best send you home to rest for the afternoon."

Jack gulped. "But…"

"No buts. I'll give you a bit of medicine, which will ease the symptoms in time, but bed rest is what I recommend."

"But I just…"

"Here, take one of these." Doctor Owen placed a small pill into Jack's palm, and the boy quickly swallowed it with the rest of the water in his glass. As he did this, Doctor Owen went to speak to Mr. Jacobs, and Jack watched miserably as the two men discussed the situation in quiet voices. He did still feel dizzy and short of breath, but the last thing he wanted to do was to worry his guardian all over again. He fingered the handkerchief given to him by Mrs. Ellis, and sighed.

"Well, Jack, looks like you'll be taking an early leave for the day. I'm sorry to lose you, but your health does come first, boy."

"But then Adam is the only bellboy," Jack protested. "You said…"

"Don't worry yourself. Just show up tomorrow at your regular time, and I hope you feel better."

"I'll take you home," Doctor Owen insisted, tipping his hat to the hotel owner, and helped Jack stand. "Easy there, easy. Good. Have a good day," he added, before leading Jack out of the building. The entire ride from the hotel to Esther's house was an awful experience. The dust from the road made Jack sneeze continually, and he was nearly ready to collapse again when they finally reached home.

As Jack expected, Esther was shocked and horrified to see the doctor on her doorstep, and even more horrified to see Jack in his carriage. "What's happened?" she asked, dashing out to aid the boy to the ground.

"He had a bit of an asthma attack at the hotel," Doctor Owen replied thoughtfully. "He'll be all right, though."

"Don't whip me," Jack whispered, and Esther gave him a small tap on the head.

"I would never do such a thing to you," she promised. "You couldn't help it."

"Well, he could have," Doctor Owen admitted. "He was trying to carry too much at once, but life is a constant learning of lessons, isn't it?"

Jack was grateful to get inside, and plopped down on the first seat he came in contact with. "Thank you so much, doctor, for bringing him home. How much do I owe you?"

Doctor Owen smiled. "Nothing at all, Madame."

"But, sir!"

"I insist. This visit is on me." He winked at Jack, who was in too much despair to smile. "Good day, Mrs. Williams." He tipped his hat, and Esther watched as he walked back to his carriage and shut the door after him.

"Oh, Jack." She sighed, shaking her head once they were alone. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

Jack shrugged, coughing slightly, and allowed her to help him up the stairs. "Straight to bed you go, and there you'll stay for the rest of the day."

Jack was too tired to argue, and held onto her as they made their way up the steps. He got into his nightclothes, sliding into bed, and allowed her to make him as comfortable as possible. "I'll bring you a cup of tea," she told him, giving him a kiss on the forehead. When she left the room and he was sure she had gone downstairs, he took the book from his nightstand and threw it angrily across the room. It hit the wall with a thud, falling on the floor spine up. He felt hot tears welling in his eyes, and quickly brushed them away. He had to get out of here. He couldn't take it anymore. Tonight, he decided, burying his head against his pillow. He would leave tonight.


	7. Chapter 7

Part II

The Artist

Jack stood on the platform at the train station, his deep blue eyes focusing on the currently empty tracks. He couldn't believe he was finally leaving, finally escaping the place he'd spent most of his life in. A cool early morning breeze ruffled his blonde hair, but he didn't feel chilled at all. He smiled, taking it in, and glanced at the leather-bound portfolio in his right hand.

Saying good-bye to Olivia was the most difficult part of leaving, and he remembered their parting vividly.

It was around midnight when Olivia felt the bed move and opened her eyes slowly. She turned her head and saw Jack sliding off of the mattress, going for his clothes. "What are you doing?" she asked in a quiet voice, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Bright rays of moonlight streamed through the curtains, leaving shadowy ripples along the floor.

"I'm leaving," Jack told her, and her mouth hung open.

"Leaving? What—what do you mean, leaving? You're running away, aren't you? Jack, don't. Don't go!" Her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled. Jack pulled on his pants and shirt before coming over to her. He sat on her side of the bed, pulling her into his arms, and smoothed her curls.

"I have to go. This isn't the place for me, Olivia. I've been thinking about it a lot, and I have enough money for a train ticket…I can afford it."

"You can't just leave without saying good-bye to Esther! Jack, after all she's done for us…we could be in an orphanage right now, and you're just going to throw it all away!" She tried to keep her voice as quiet as possible without yelling.

"It's easier this way," Jack told her, shaking his head.

"Where will you go?" Olivia asked as he began packing a small duffle bag with clothes and special items he thought were important to take with him.

"California," Jack replied, pulling the string on the bag to tighten it. "Santa Monica. That's where Dad took Mom on their honeymoon, and he said I should try to go there one day, so I think I will."

"Will I ever see you again?" Olivia asked, and Jack smiled.

"I don't doubt it," he told her.

Olivia pulled her blankets down and swung her own feet over the edge of the bed. "Let me come with you," she begged, and Jack shook his head.

"No. Esther needs you."

"And she doesn't need you?" Olivia asked, shocked. "Jack, she loves you just as much as she loves me!"

"I'm too restless to stay in one place. I have to keep moving."

Olivia stood in the center of the room, watching as he finished packing, and then she walked towards her bureau. She opened the top drawer, pulling out one of her several bright-colored hair ribbons. "Then at least take something to remember me by when you're traveling," she whispered, and spritzed a bit of her light-scented perfume. "Here." She brought it to him, tying it around his left wrist. Jack watched as she did so and felt his heart breaking. Though he knew sneaking out was wrong, it was something he had to do. He couldn't avoid it; the longer he waited, the more angry and frustrated he felt.

"Thanks," he told her, and gave her another hug. "I love you," he insisted, and she choked on a sob, her eyes following his figure as he made his way towards the window.

"I…" She swallowed. "I hope you eventually find what you're looking for, Jack." She hurried to lean on the sill once he climbed through the window and watched as he made his way very carefully to the empty sidewalk below.

A loud train whistle startled Jack from his thoughts, and he raised his head, blinking at the sight of the enormous train rolling towards the platform. A second loud whistle, than another…several people who stood on the platform as well gathered their bags and prepared to board.

"All aboard!" the conductor shouted, stepping onto the platform to motion for everyone to enter the train.

"Good morning," Jack told the old man, who tipped his hat cheerfully to him. He made his way down the long aisle, picking a seat by the window. He had absolutely no idea what he planned to do when he reached California, but he hoped to find something.

He eventually handed his ticket to the conductor once the train began to move again, and resumed gazing out at the familiar scenery of Wisconsin. It did make him feel slightly sad as it whizzed past, but he knew his decision was for the best. Little did he know the heartbreak Esther truly felt when Olivia told her of his leaving. She and Olivia dashed to the train station, only to find out that they'd missed him by two hours.

"He had to go," Olivia told Esther, watching as the older lady covered her mouth with her gloved hand, tears flowing down her cheeks. "He wasn't happy here, but it's not your fault." She squeezed her guardian's arm comfortingly, encouraging her to follow her back to the apartment.

"Traveling alone, boy?"

Jack jumped at the voice and turned to see a man sitting next to him. He wore a brown suit with a matching hat and carried a briefcase.

"Yes, sir," Jack replied, feeling slightly awkward.

"Which part of California are you headed for?"

"Santa Monica."

"Nice place. I'm headed to Los Angeles myself…I'm an agent in the movie business. Charles Atwood." He extended a hand, which Jack shook firmly, and smiled. "Are you interested in acting, by any chance? We're looking for fresh blood."

Jack snorted. "Not really, sir. I'm sorry. I'm more of an artist."

"That's a shame. You certainly have the looks for the screen."

Jack raised his eyes with surprise. "Thanks…I think." He nodded, starting to turn back towards the window, but Mr. Atwood pointed at his portfolio.

"Might I see what you've done?"

Jack tightened his grip on the portfolio, not wanting to trust just anyone too quickly. "I assure you, I'm as harmless as they come." Mr. Atwood chuckled at Jack's hesitation, and at last, Jack slowly handed his artwork to the man. For several minutes, Mr. Atwood flipped through the numerous drawings, murmuring quietly to himself. Jack held his breath, fiddling with Olivia's hair ribbon, and wondered if his work was really any good, if he stood a chance at becoming an important name.

"These are excellent!" Mr. Atwood exclaimed, after glancing at the last drawing in the portfolio, and handed the leather book back. "You know, I had a thought. Even if you aren't interested in the acting part of the movie business, you could possibly help us with set design and such?"

Jack thought for a moment. That was something he hadn't considered, and it did sound interesting, certainly. After a bit of silence, Mr. Atwood pulled a pad from his briefcase and began scribbling something down on a piece of paper. "This is my name and my telephone number in case you decide to give the business a try. It's pretty tough to make it out there as an artist otherwise. You're good, no doubt about that, but there's always someone better."

Jack sighed, nodding in understanding. "Thank you," he replied, accepting the paper and glancing at it before putting it in his pocket. After that, Mr. Atwood buried himself in his newspaper, leaving Jack to his own devices.

Jack slept most of the first half of the trip, only waking when supper arrived. He didn't feel all that hungry, but slightly guilty more than anything else. Right now, judging by the darkening sky, Olivia and Esther would be preparing the evening meal together alone, wondering where he was and how he was. He would write to them as soon as he arrived in California, and apologize to Esther for having left without warning.

The train didn't arrive to Santa Monica station until late afternoon the following day, and Jack peered through the window at the station approaching. He checked his pack, counted the money he'd brought, and sighed. He had just enough to last him a week or more, and in the cheapest hotel possible. The rest of the money would have to go towards food and possibly transportation, depending on where he decided to work. After putting it away, he stood up when the conductor instructed, and followed a small crowd of passengers to the exit of the train. He stepped onto the platform, his heart pounding…he was on his own at last!

After walking up the steps and to the main road, he pulled out the little piece of paper Mr. Atwood had given him and wet his lips. He wasn't sure if he wanted to get involved with the acting business just yet, but it couldn't hurt, as Mr. Atwood told him, to at least keep the idea under his belt. He took a deep breath of the salt air and began strolling down the sidewalk, trying to find a good hotel.

A few seagulls cawed in the distance, and he turned towards the noise, watching the birds floating aimlessly through the air. He smiled, listening to the chatter and laughter of people around him and the sound of the ocean waves crashing along the shore.

He eventually found what seemed to be a fairly decent hotel and opened the door. A mother with her two children stood at the front desk, and she was signing a paper and chatting with the employee. Jack smiled when the mother caught his eye, and he stood waiting patiently for his turn.

"Hello, dear," the woman greeted as she walked away from the desk, and the little girl waved her chubby hand at him. He laughed, waving back, and knelt down.

"What's your name?" he asked when the mother paused to laugh at her daughter, also.

"Mollie," she replied rather shyly, and he shook hands with her.

"What's that in your hand?" Mollie asked, noticing the leather folder, and her mother gave her a warning look.

"Sweetheart, it's not very nice to pry into a stranger's business."

Jack chuckled. "I'm not a stranger. I'm Jack…Jack Dawson." He proceeded to tell Mollie that the portfolio he held in his hand was full of sketches.

"Well, I am Sarah Goodworth." The mother spoke up, shaking hands with him, as well. "Mollie, perhaps you can see Mr. Dawson's portfolio if he is indeed coming to stay here for a few days. We just checked in ourselves."

"Yes, I hope to," Jack admitted, and Mollie groaned with disappointment at the idea of having to wait.

"Oh, well, I'll see you later, then!" she chirped, and Jack waved, making his way towards the desk. The person sitting behind it was a tall woman with graying hair and a very wrinkly face.

"May I help you, boy?" she asked, adjusting her spectacles on her nose.

"Um…yes! I was wondering, what is the cheapest room you have available?"

The woman peered at him suspiciously and then began flipping through a large book, licking her finger as she turned each page. "Well, son, you're just in luck. I have one more room available on the third floor, which will cost you twenty-five cents a night."

Jack reached into his trouser pocket, checking to see how much money he had left. The train fare from Wisconsin to California had cost him about eleven dollars, so he had about one hundred dollars left. He hadn't been working for the hotel very long, but he made sure he worked long enough to gather as decent an amount to start him off on his new adventures as he could. "Could I possibly book the room for three nights?" he asked, and the hotel owner nodded, accepting the seventy-five cents he gave her.

"What is your name, boy?" she asked, taking a pen from its holder and dipping it into an ink bottle.

"Dawson. Jack Dawson," he replied, wetting his lips, and she jotted it down into the book.

"Very well. Here is your key. The room is simple, containing a bed, a desk, a couple of chairs, and you will be sharing a public bathroom at the end of the hall."

Jack took the key, and on the paper read, "314. Thank you, Mrs…"

"Donnelly. Anne Donnelly."

"Thank you, Mrs. Donnelly." Jack swung his pack over his shoulder, making his way up the slightly damaged staircase.

"Mind the staircase, Mr. Dawson. There's a broken one about halfway up."

Jack glanced over his shoulder, giving her a grateful smile, and then kept his focus solely on the steps as he made his way to his floor. The hallway was narrow and awfully dark, with scratched wooden floors and a cracked window or two. Jack heard laughter and the sound of bottles clanging from the room next door to his, and took a deep breath before sticking the key into the lock.

He pushed open the door, poking his head inside. The room was tiny and cramped, with a single large window covered with ugly brown curtains. Jack stepped inside, shutting the door after him, and shivered as a draft blew through the half-open window.

He set his pack down on the bed, covered with a brown comforter and white sheets, and sat down on the edge of it. The desk sat in front of the window, containing an ink well, a pen, and a candle with a wick. When he glanced to his left, he noticed a beat -p dresser with a wash bin on top. He certainly preferred Esther's living arrangements, but this would have to do until he could afford better.

Jack began to unpack his things, spreading his few items on the bed. It was just about seven o'clock, and it would not be worth going out onto the town to explore right then. He would save his explorations for the daylight hours, in case he got horribly lost. Which, he thought with a smirk, wasn't all that ridiculous of a thought.

He pulled a spare piece of sketch paper from the portfolio and decided to write a letter to Esther and Olivia once he lit the candle, flooding the room with a soft, orange glow.

_August 1, 1898_

_Esther,_

_I have arrived safely in Santa Monica, California. I am so terribly sorry to have left without notice, but the time had come for me to make my escape, and I could not afford any kind of barrier. I will be perfectly all right on my own, I assure you, and I do not think I am the type of person to settle in any one place._

_I did, however, want to thank you for your kind hospitality to Olivia and I--we are most grateful. So far, I have not found any employment, but I did speak to a man on the train who is an agent in the film business. He possibly has a job for me to help design sets for motion pictures, which I may consider one of these days. Right now, I want to see if I can focus on my art and try to sell a bit of it. I have enough money from working at the hotel to keep me going for at least a week, and I have found a suitable hotel to live in until I find something better._

_Again, I apologize for not having told you my plans, but I hope you'll understand. Olivia will help you in whatever way she can, and I will one day, possibly, come back to see you both again._

_With all of my love,  
Jack_

Jack finished the letter, blowing out his breath, and allowed the ink to dry for a few moments. It was hard to believe his parents had been dead for a year already—the incident seemed as though it only happened yesterday.

He felt a single tear roll down his cheek, watched with a slight pang of irritation as it blotted a spot of ink on the page, and leaned his chin in his palm. He was sixteen years old, and the thought of resorting to youthful homesickness was almost humiliating. He'd brought this on himself, and he would take his decision like the man he had thought that he was.

He knew he wasn't perfectly happy living with Esther, even though he knew he would have been worse off living in some crowded orphanage. However, he couldn't help missing the comforts of having his food, clothing, and shelter that was already provided for him in Wisconsin.

_Oh, get over it, Jack, _he thought, finally folding the letter and stuffing it into an envelope. He scribbled Esther's address on the front before deciding to get ready for bed.


	8. Chapter 8

Jack awoke early the next morning, squinting in the bright sunlight. He cringed as he struggled to sit, and massaged the back of his neck. _Must have slept on it wrong, _he thought with a sigh as he sat blinking sleepily at the wall. His plan was to go to the Santa Monica beach that afternoon, to see what the crowds were like. They were probably fairly large at this time of the year, considering it was a few weeks until the end of summer, and most families tried to squeeze in last minute vacations before school started.

With a soft grunt, Jack slid over the side of the bed, resting his bare feet on the cold wooden floor. "Yikes!" he cried, quickly dashing to the closest carpet, and sighed with relief. He peered out the window, his eyes focusing on the street below, and smiled as he saw people already awake and walking about. He gathered his clothes and put them on, taking his portfolio in one arm and his letter to Esther in his free hand. He could hear chatting and laughter down the hall, and peeped out through his door. Despite the beautiful weather, the corridor was dark and dank, smelling horribly of dust.

When he finally descended the stairs, he nearly tripped over a small figure on the bottom one. "Oh!" He grasped the railing, having just caught himself, and the figure stood. After Jack managed to get a closer look, he realized it was the young daughter of the woman he'd met the previous day. She was dressed in her best clothes and wore a pink bow in her nut brown hair. She grinned at him, revealing where she'd lost her two front teeth. "Hello, Mollie," he greeted, and she beamed, pleased that he'd remembered her name. "What are you doing down here all by yourself?"

She shrugged. "Mama is getting Peter ready for church, and I was bored, so I decided to come and 'splore a little. Mama said I could, if I asked Mrs. Donnelly, and she did say yes. Oh, it's a splendid little place, Mr. Jack! Have you been around it?"

Jack laughed and shook his head. "You don't have to call me Mr. Jack," he insisted. "Just Jack. And no, I pretty much went right to bed last night. But I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

Mollie grinned again. "I lost my other tooth last night!" She stuck her tongue in the empty space, and Jack bent down, pretending to peer closely at it.

"Very interesting. Did the tooth fairy come and give you a gift?" he asked, remembering his parent's leaving pennies underneath his pillow whenever he lost a tooth.

"What's a tooth fairy?" she asked, and Jack blinked, startled that she hadn't been told of this fairy tale.

"It's a little fairy who appears after you've lost a tooth, and she leaves a penny or another little present under your pillow while you're sleeping."

Mollie pondered this for a moment and shrugged. "No, didn't get a present for it."

Jack smiled at her and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a dime and placed it in her hand. "Well, congratulations on loosing the tooth, Miss Mollie," he complimented, and she gasped.

"Wow! Thank you!" she exclaimed, just as little Peter, her brother, came dashing down the steps. "Look what Jack gave me, Peter! A dime for my tooth!" Mollie cried, showing him the dime, and Mrs. Goodworth laughed.

"That was unnecessary, Jack, but thank you for doing that," she told him, and Jack shrugged.

"It's no trouble," he replied.

"So, what are your plans today? I take it you're new to the area," she added, and the group walked into the lobby of the hotel. He nodded.

"Well, sort of. My father and mother came to Santa Monica for their honeymoon, so I heard all about it. But I've never been here myself, no."

Sarah glanced through the front door into the clear morning and then back at him. "Well, my children and I are here on vacation…we're from Perris, California, actually. That's a couple of hours away, and my husband is on a business trip in Los Angeles."

A bell went off in Jack's brain, and he looked up. "Los Angeles…he doesn't by any chance work in the film business, does he?" he asked as they said good-bye to Mrs. Donnelly, who was just sitting down at her desk.

"Oh, no, no," she replied. "He's a lawyer, actually. Why? Were you seeking to enter the film business, Jack?" she added as they walked outside. The sun was so bright that it nearly blinded him, and without warning, he doubled over sneezing. Both Peter and Mollie stared at him in surprise, and then they began giggling, receiving warning looks from their mother.

"Are you all right?" Sarah asked, once Jack managed to calm down, and he groaned.

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks." He squinted and hurried to stand in the shade of a palm tree. "Wow, that sun is really bright," he commented, shielding his eyes with his hand. Sarah chuckled and offered him a handkerchief, which he declined.

"Don't be silly," she replied. "I definitely have others." She pressed it into his hand, and then pointed down the street. "Our car is parked on the corner there," she explained. "If you would like, I could take you for a drive around to show you the area. We've been here for a couple of days already, so we're fairly familiar with it by this point. Where were you thinking of going originally?" she asked as Jack followed them. He watched as little Peter walked beside his perky sister, and was quite surprised at how quiet the mouse-brown-haired boy was.

"I'm not really sure," Jack admitted. "I just kind of came out here with an open mind. I'm hoping to find a spot where there would be crowds, because I'm hoping to try and sell a bit of my artwork." He fiddled with the edge of his portfolio, taking in the scenery as he made his way towards Sarah's car. When they reached it, she allowed him to get into the front passenger seat, while Peter and Mollie got into the back.

"Pardon me for one moment," Sarah spoke, preparing to get out and crank the vehicle. Jack saw immediately what she was doing and hopped out with her.

"I'll do that," he offered, and she shook her head.

"Oh, no, no! I'm quite all right, Jack. Thank you. Believe me, I've done this quite often without my husband's help. The more practice a woman gets with this type of thing, the better. Wouldn't you say?" She winked and encouraged Jack to sit back down. He did, knowing it was better than to argue anymore.

"Why did you leave home, Jack?" Mollie asked, and Jack shrugged.

"I wanted a change, and that's pretty much it. I lived in the same town for fifteen years, so I was of course getting awfully bored of it."

"That's neat," Mollie chirped. "We travel lots and lots. I've already been to England and Paris," she explained as Sarah took her place in the driver's seat.

"Yes." She chuckled. "We do travel quite often. But it is a wonderful experience, and certainly helps where education is concerned." She pulled away from the curb and began to drive down the fairly empty street. "So, you are looking for an area with large crowds, hmm?"

He nodded. "Yes, but I'm not really familiar with California at all. I was talking to a man who was an agent in the film business, and he gave me his card for a studio in Los Angeles, but I think I really want to focus on my art for right now."

Sarah nodded in understanding. "Well, Santa Monica is a very crowded area this time of the year. No doubt you'll get plenty of willing victims on the beaches, if you want to sketch there, or, though it doesn't look it now, the streets are bustling by lunchtime."

Mollie gasped. "Can you draw my portrait, Jack?" she begged. "Please?"

Jack grinned, glancing over his shoulder. "Of course! You'll be my first customer."

Sarah glanced at her daughter and shook her head. "You are quite a dear, Jack. My daughter can truly chat up a storm." She turned a corner, and Jack found his eyes focusing on the palm trees. The weather was quite warm, but a cool breeze was present to make it more comfortable. He settled back into his seat, watching as people strolled along the sidewalk.

When they eventually reached the beach, Sarah pulled into a parking spot along the side of the road and the children let out yippees.

"What a beautiful day!" Sarah exclaimed, lifting her face to the bright sunshine, enjoying the light breeze.

_Much too bright, _Jack thought, wriggling his tickling nose. He watched as Mollie and Peter scrambled out of the car and began running for the boardwalk. "Race you there, Mama!" Mollie called, getting ahead of her brother.

"Don't go too far, dear!" Sarah chuckled, leading Jack after them. The children stood staring at the ocean, watching as seagulls flew over their heads. The salt air was already extraordinarily comforting, and Jack took a deep breath of it, feeling his nose clear almost instantly.

"Would you like me to draw you on the beach or on the boardwalk, Mollie?" Jack asked, once he got the little girl's attention again. She thought for a moment, and then her face lit up.

"The beach! Can Peter be in the drawing, too? Can he? Can he?" she asked, and Peter looked a little annoyed with the prospect of sitting still for so long.

"Let your brother decide, love," Sarah warned, and Peter shrugged.

"Don't mind," he admitted, and Jack chuckled.

"Well, just for being my first customers, you will get your portraits for free," he added, and Sarah gasped.

"Oh, Jack, what were you planning on charging per portrait? We couldn't deprive you of making your living!"

Jack shook his head. "I refuse to charge you," he said. "I'm just repaying you for being so kind to me."

Sarah smiled at him. "Thank you, dear, but allow me to give you two nickels at least…a nickel per child."

Jack frowned deeply, not wanting to accept the money from the woman. "Absolutely not," he added. "Keep it."

"Come on! I want my picture drawn!" Mollie cried with impatience, and danced around her mother in peppy circles. Sarah brought the children onto the beach and Jack watched as the waves rolled gently onto the white sand. The scene before him looked almost exactly like a picture post card…completely breathtaking. _I wish you were with me, Olivia, _he thought, his eyes catching the hair ribbon still tied to his wrist. He missed his sister terribly, watching Mollie and Peter position themselves for the sketch. They sat down facing each other, their knees drawn up and their heads tilted towards the ocean.

"How is this?" Mollie asked, and Jack grinned.

"Perfect," he agreed, and Sarah sat down.

"Would you mind if I asked you to join them?" Jack asked.

Sarah, baffled, opened her mouth and closed it for a moment. "Of course, Jack," she replied. "Where would you like me to position myself?"

"If it wouldn't be too much, could you stand like that and pretend to be watching your children? I want this to look as natural as possible." He watched as Sarah stood behind Mollie and Peter, her lips forming a loving smile as she tilted her head towards them in that special motherly fashion. Jack eventually sat down himself, balancing the sketchpad on his knees while he fumbled through his drawing supplies pouch. After selecting the desired piece of charcoal, he wet his lips, took a deep breath, and sketched the first line.


	9. Chapter 9

After Jack said good-bye to Sarah and her children, he realized just how hungry he was. It was already ten o'clock, and he hadn't had anything to eat for breakfast. Rolling his eyes at his growling stomach, he walked across the street to a comfortable-looking diner and pushed open the door. A gentle tinkle of a bell rang in his ears, and everyone who'd been sitting in the booths and at the counter turned to look at him.

He gave them a casual smile and took a seat at an empty counter stool, setting his art supplies beside him. Gazing around, he got a good look at the different customers. On his left was a fat man with hairy arms and a top hat who was in the midst of smoking a cigar. To his right sat a thinner man dressed in a horrible brown suit, his face hidden behind a newspaper. Jack cleared his throat, feeling a little uncomfortable, but no one paid him any mind.

He heard a loud giggle from behind him and glanced over his shoulder. Sitting in the booth opposite the counter was a young couple. The woman, medium-height and strawberry blonde, was laughing as her significant other nuzzled her neck. She was hiding her lips behind a napkin, trying to muffle the laughter, but wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"Can I help you, sonny?"

Jack jumped and turned towards the counter again. A pudgy waitress with black hair was staring at him with bright green eyes. "Er…" Jack pulled one of the menus from its holder and glanced through it. "I'll have a…number five with a cup of coffee, please."

She wrote his order down and then looked at him again. "Sugar in your coffee?"

Jack shook his head. "Black," he told her, and she bustled away towards the kitchen. He put the menu away and opened his sketchbook. He thought his portraits earlier that day had gone quite well, though he wasn't the least bit surprised when the children became fussy about halfway through. Sarah had to scold them several times so Jack could finish his sketch, and Mollie had taken to teasing her brother afterwards. It had ended up with hair-tugging and shoulder-punching, and Sarah apologized profoundly to Jack before pulling her children off of the beach.

"Here's your coffee," the waitress announced, handing him the steaming cup. Jack thanked her, and realized that a bulk of the drawings in his pad were sketches of his family or scenery around their home. He felt his throat choke up, realizing he'd forgotten to send the letter he'd brought with him.

"Where you from, son?" the large man asked, his gruff voice startling Jack from his thoughts. He blew a puff of cigar smoke that made Jack cough, though he tried to hide the fact that it bothered him.

"Wisconsin, sir," Jack replied.

"Here by yourself?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah."

"Good luck, kid." The man blew another puff of foul-smelling smoke before turning back to his meal. Jack blinked, taking a sip of his coffee. "Want a smoke?" he asked a moment later, producing a new cigar. Jack shook his head.

"No, thank you," he replied.

"Here you go, sonny." The waitress plopped the plate of eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, and toast on the counter. "That it?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah, thanks." He cleared his throat again, trying to concentrate on his breakfast. She went back to the kitchen, and the diner turned fairly quiet again. Jack had never felt more grateful to finish eating and leave, and though he sneezed again after going back out into the broad daylight, he sighed with relief. With his sketchpad under his arm, he made his way down the narrow street, searching for a post office. He took the letter out of his pocket, fingering the rough envelope, and wet his lips.

He found the post office about ten minutes later and entered the fairly crowded building. Standing in a line, he rocked back and forth on his heels, wondering what he was going to do for the rest of the day. He remembered Mr. Atwood's card and thought about whether or not he should bother contacting him. He wasn't quite sure if he was ready to do something as big as working in the film business; at least not yet. He eventually reached the main window and handed his letter to the mailman.

"You just missed today's shipment," the mailman told him. "But we're accepting mail for tomorrow morning."

Jack groaned, lowering his eyes to the ground. "All right," he muttered, and the mailman tossed the envelope into a stack of mail behind him. Jack walked out of the building and back onto the street, pausing and waiting for another sneeze to erupt. When nothing came, he continued on his way, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

"Jack? Jack Dawson? That can't be you!"

Jack blinked as someone called his name, and raised his head to find to whom it belonged. He couldn't believe it…it was a good friend of his from grade school who had left Wisconsin the previous year. "Al?" he cried in disbelief, wrapping his arm around the broad-shouldered, dark-haired man. Alexander Pullings was about two years older than he was, but the two had bonded fast when they first met. The age difference didn't matter at all to either of them.

"What are you doing here, kid?" he asked, ruffling Jack's hair and pulling him over to a bench. "I certainly didn't expect to see you here, of all people!"

"I'm trying to make it on my own," Jack explained. "I left home a few days ago. I haven't seen you in…forever!"

"At least three years." Al laughed, punching his shoulder playfully. "Looking good, Dawson! So, tell me what you've been up to. How are your parents? And your sister?"

Jack frowned, realizing that Al wouldn't have known about the fire. When he told the story of the fire that destroyed his family's barn and killed his parents, Al's expression changed to a very solemn one. "Wow, Jack, I'm really sorry to hear that. So, did you run off as soon as it happened? Where's your sister?"

Jack was about to respond when the sneeze he'd been waiting for earlier came on suddenly. "Excuse me," he apologized. "It's the sun," he explained, sniffing. "Well, Olivia and I ran off from the house, hoping to make it to the closest neighbor. But I got sick and passed out, and I guess she did, too, because this woman came by early in the morning and found the two of us lying on the road. She took us in and took care of me…I had bronchitis pretty bad…and when I got better, she adopted us."

Al raised an eyebrow. "So you ran off, huh? They couldn't keep you prisoner." He gave Jack another punch on the shoulder. "Good to see you, Jack. Do you have a place to stay?"

Jack shrugged. "Well, I'm staying at a hotel right now, but I only have enough money to last me for a few nights."

Al nodded in understanding. "I see," he replied. "I have a place on Chokecherry Street if you wanna come and stay with me until you find your feet here. It's not the best joint in the world, but hey, whatever works to keep a roof over your head."

Jack shook his head. "I couldn't accept that," he said.

"I'm your friend, Jack. Think of it as several Christmas presents rolled into one, or several Christmas and birthday presents and Christmas presents combined."

Jack couldn't believe his luck. "Must have been destiny that we met up." He laughed. "I was wondering what happened to you! What have you been doing here in California?" He stood up and began following Al down the street.

"Well, I've been doing all sorts of odd jobs," Al explained. "Working at a lumber mill, catching crabs for restaurants—you name it, I've probably done it." He shrugged. "Whatever it takes. Right, Dawson?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah." He smiled.

"So, what are your plans?" Al asked as they eventually turned, making their way towards Jack's hotel so he could gather his things. "Anything you came out here to do in particular?"

Jack shrugged. "Well, I came out here hoping to focus on my art, but I just got here the other day, so I haven't had a chance to really explore my options. I did meet an agent from Hollywood on the train, and he gave me his card."

Al raised his eyes again. "Wow," he breathed. "A real agent, huh? You gonna take his offer?"

Jack gave another shrug. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'm not sure if I'm ready for that yet. I was going to try selling my artwork in town for about ten cents apiece."

Al nodded. "Yeah, the crowds get pretty good around here this time of the year. But I'd maybe give the agent a call, seeing as it's already August, so the crowds are gonna start dwindling. Especially with the kids going back to school."

Jack nodded, feeling the urge to sneeze again. When he did, Al patted him on the back. "Gesundheit." He laughed.

"Thanks," Jack muttered. "Third time I've sneezed today." He gave his nose a rub, and Al shrugged.

"Well, it is pretty bright out here," he admitted. "And you're pretty pale."

Jack smirked. "Either that, or I'm allergic to something." He cleared his throat. "Which probably isn't surprising. I really make a lousy farm kid," he added with a laugh. "Allergic to animal fur."

Al snorted. "That figures," he teased. "Not horses, right?"

Jack shook his head. "That's pretty much all we could have, though Olivia was allowed to have one cat, which she was ordered to keep in the barn." He frowned sadly, wondering what happened to the cat during the fire. _Probably went up in smoke, _he thought.

They reached the hotel, stepping through the doorway. "New recruit, eh?" Mrs. Donnelly asked, noticing Al. "Staying overnight?"

Al shook his head, and so did Jack. "He's actually offered me a place to stay," he told her. "So I'm just going to get my things." Mrs. Donnelly shook her head as she watched the boys troop up the stairs and snickered when Jack told Al to mind the broken step.

"Whoa," Al smirked, just barely missing it with the toe of his shoe. "Good timing."

They made their way to the room, which Al pointed out wasn't too shabby. Jack snorted, collecting his duffle bag of clothing and making the room look as it had when he'd first arrived the night before. "Yeah, well…" He shrugged. "For eleven dollars, what do you expect?"

Al snorted. "For eleven dollars, Jack, I'd have a mansion." He winked, taking Jack's portfolio for him and his bag of art supplies.

"Thanks," Jack told his friend, and the two of them trooped back down the steps. Jack set that night's rent on the counter, and Mrs. Donnelly raised an eyebrow.

"You don't have to pay me unless you're staying," she told him, pushing the money back. "It'd be robbery if I took that now."

Jack shook his head. "Go on," he insisted, and she smiled at him.

"No, take it back, Mr. Dawson. Good luck to both of you," she insisted, waving as the two boys left the hotel. When they were gone, she sat back down at her desk, scratching Jack's name from the guestbook with a shake of her head and a chuckle.

When they got back outside, Al turned to Jack. "Don't sneeze," he teased, noticing how Jack's eyes squinted. His request ended in vain, and Al snickered.

"Four," Jack croaked. "I can't believe I sneeze every time I go outside. This is getting ridiculous." He swung his duffle bag over his shoulder, grunting as the heavy weight hit his back. "So, how far is your place?" he asked, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and giving his nose a quick blow.

"About five miles from here," Al replied. "Not far." He kicked a pebble, watching as it skipped ahead a few feet. For a good part of the walk, the boys were silent, enjoying the beautiful weather and the sound of the seagulls as they cried overhead. Jack lifted his face towards the sky, taking in a breath of the ocean air. He hadn't been to the beach in a long time; maybe once or twice in his childhood had his parents actually taken him there.

They turned a corner, passed another series of miniature shops and restaurants, and listened to the sound of kids as they begged their parents to stop here or there. Jack noticed a little girl, about four years old, tugging on her father's hand and pointing to a toy shop. He smiled, wondering if that would ever be him one day. "Don't think I'd like to have kids," Al muttered, almost as though he could read Jack's mind. "Always pestering and whining about something."

Jack shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "Might be nice. I met these really sweet kids at the hotel yesterday…I drew their pictures this morning on the beach. A little girl and a boy, probably about six or seven. Here on vacation with their mom," he explained, and Al nodded.

"I guess some tykes can be all right," he replied. The little girl turned and looked at him, her thumb in her mouth and eyes twinkling. Jack smiled back, feeling his heart swelling. _I would like to have kids of my own one day, _he thought.

"Here we are," Al announced, and the boys reached a slightly broken-down apartment. "It only has one room, so you may have to sleep on the floor. But I have plenty of spare blankets, so it shouldn't be a problem."

Jack shrugged. "I guess I'll have to get used to sleeping anywhere," he replied. "Chokecherry Street." He raised an eyebrow. "Interesting name."

"Yeah. Welcome to 504 Chokecherry Street," he said, motioning with his arm towards the apartment. "We're on the fifth floor. Pretty clean, for what you make it." He opened the door, and Jack sneezed as soon as a few clouds of dust protruded from inside.

"Gesundheit." Al winked and Jack rolled his eyes.

"Thanks." He smirked, and the two of them made their way into the dark building. They walked down a very narrow hallway with horrible olive green wallpaper. They came to a lobby, greeted the old man at the front desk, and began making their way up the steps. Al took his keys from his trouser pocket, dangling them around one finger. Jack held onto the railing as they prepared to climb up the stairs, but Al warned him against it.

"Railing's real rickety," he explained. "Safer just to lean against the wall, if anything. Don't think you'd want to go crashing down five floors."

Jack stared at the rail, removing his hand from it, and continued the walk up the creaky stairs. "Smells like sardines in here," he whispered. "Does the guy have anyone clean this place?"

Al shrugged. "Don't think it's been cleaned for a month, at least. Landlord's pretty deaf in his right ear, by the way, so you have to shout if you want his attention. Most of us don't even bother, because it ends up with more huhs than success."

Jack snorted. "Great," he muttered. "How old is he? Like, one hundred?"

Al laughed. "Nah. I'd say about eighty-five. His name's Herbert Branson. He's a pretty decent fellow, even if he can get crabby. Now, another warning," he added, once they reached the fifth floor. "There's an actor down the hallway who sings at the top of his lungs every night about the same time. I've learned to ignore it, though sometimes you have to yell at him to shut up. And there's a woman who cries for at least an hour. Last night, there was a party in one of the rooms, and I was almost molested by a…well, never mind."

Jack gulped, not sure if he was quite ready for this. But before he could point that out, Al had opened the door to his flat, urging Jack inside. It was even tinier than Mrs. Donnelly's hotel room, if that was possible. There were no curtains at all on the walls, only covered with large sheets of brown paper. The walls were made of cinderblock, and Jack noticed a hunk of cobwebs in the upper left-hand corner. A spider was crawling up the wall, making him shiver, and he quickly turned away.

There was a small bed with a dark green comforter and white sheets bundled up at the end. "Pardon the mess," Al apologized. "But you know, I wasn't expecting to come across an old buddy today." He grinned and Jack returned it. He set his bag on the floor, wrinkling his nose as another cloud of dust floated up from it. Sleeping on the floor would probably be an adventure in itself, he decided.

"Here's a pile of blankets for you to make a bed if you like." Al tossed them to Jack, and he began to make his bed as best he could.

"Are you working today or anything?" Jack asked. "I didn't mean to stop you from what you were doing earlier."

Al shrugged. "Don't know. As I said, I don't really work in any set place. Get a new job almost every day, depending."

Jack wet his lips. "Well, my nose is going to have a time of it in here," he grumbled, giving it another rub. He set the blankets on the floor, arranging them in a sleeping bag-like fashion.

"Geez, Jack." Al snorted. "We may have to get you a breathing mask if you're gonna survive in here," he added, as Jack sneezed several times. He groaned, wetting his lips and brushing his blonde hair out of his eyes.

"Well, you won't be able to lose me easily," Jack teased, taking a seat on the desk chair. "Whoa!" He grabbed hold of the table top as the chair swayed, and Al glanced at him.

"Yeah, not in the best of shape, the stuff in here. Might want to sit on the bed, but it sinks in a little." He sat down, making a potbelly of the mattress. Jack joined his friend, picking up his portfolio. "So, where do you want to start with selling your art? Any ideas? You'll probably need to advertise."

Jack nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "That would be a good idea. Make a sign or something. The main street of town might be good, or the beach."

Al nodded. "Well, the beach can be iffy. It's usually crowded until about four, and then everyone decides at once to go back for dinner. That's usually when I go, because I can actually enjoy myself and not worry about being trampled by all the families. But, yeah, for you, you might want to start there around eleven or so."

With Al's help, Jack made a large colorful sign that advertised his drawings. They dragged a small fold-up table, the old desk chair, and pins to the beach when they were ready to leave.

When they reached the beach, Jack took a deep breath of awe as he stepped onto the sand. Already the place was packed with families. Jack's eyes caught sight of a little girl waddling towards the surf, her pudgy hands outstretched. "Da!" she shrieked, pointing at a shell.

"Darling, come away from there," a middle-aged woman ordered, though her voice was soft.

"Jack?" Al waved a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Jack. You still here, buddy?"

Jack blinked, looking at him. "Huh? Oh, sorry. Got distracted." The little girl eventually came towards her mother, but stopped short when she saw Jack. She waved her tiny hand, saying, "Hi," in a quiet voice. Jack chuckled, waving back.

"Hey, sweetie," he replied, and the mother came to scoop her daughter up. "I'm so sorry," she apologized, and glanced at Jack's supplies. "Oh! Are you an artist?"

Jack shrugged. "Well, I'm just starting out, Ma'am."

"How wonderful. There aren't enough young artists these days that are worthy of the title. Good luck to you," she added, and Jack wasn't sure whether or not to take the woman's phrase as a compliment or an insult. He glanced at Al, who was muffling laughter, and rolled his eyes.

"Shut up," he snapped, and tossed his art supplies to his friend. "Take these," he said, and unfolded the poster, holding it in front of the table. "What do you think?" he asked, and Al set the supplies on the sand.

"Looks fine," he admitted. "I could draw customers in, Jack, if you'd be willing to split the earnings." He winked, and Jack smiled.

"You know I'd give you part of it anyway. I can't thank you enough, Al."

Al shrugged. "My pleasure. Here, let's tack this thing up, and I'll start shouting."

Jack snorted. "Shouting what?" he asked, brushing his hair away from his eyes. The sea breeze was particularly strong, and he hoped the rickety table wouldn't collapse.

"Leave it to me," Al insisted. "Have a seat, sir." Jack smirked, sitting down on the chair. He set his supplies in front of him and took a deep breath. Al was just about to do his first shout when he saw another mother chasing her six-year-old boy towards the table.

"You're a kid magnet, Jack!" Al scoffed.

Before they knew it, Jack had a line of children nearly a mile long. Parents stood a few feet away while he worked, and Al made faces to keep the fussy ones interested.

At the end of the day, Jack had made a total of three dollars. He was filthy rich, according to Al, who suggested they grab a beer to celebrate.

"What?" Jack asked. "You're drinking already?"

Al snorted, as though the answer was obvious. "Where have you been, kid? Come on, I'll get you your first. I know this great joint where the bar tender'll give you one on the house. Friend of mine."

Jack hesitated…he remembered Esther telling him the danger of the drink, but she never gave up her tradition of wine with dinner.

"One'll be okay, I guess," he replied, and Al slapped him on the back with approval. After packing up their supplies, they headed off the beach and in the direction of the bar.


	10. Chapter 10

When Jack awoke the next morning, he began to feel the unpleasant aftereffects of alcohol. He lay on his pile of blankets, fighting against his rolling stomach and the pounding ache in his head.

Al continued to sleep, lying flat on his stomach, arms hanging over the edges of the bed. His snore woke Jack--a loud, rumbling noise, and that was what did him in.

Jack struggled to his feet, stumbling over to the wash bin. Terrible bouts of retching soon followed, leaving him faint and exhausted. He swallowed; the leftover taste of vomit still thick in his mouth. He reached clumsily for a wash rag, knocking over a glass. Its crash caused his heart to skip a beat, and he glanced anxiously at Al.

Al merely grunted, smacking his lips together, and turned to the side. Groaning miserably, Jack lifted the wash bin and carried it out of the room. _If this is what it's like to be drunk, _he thought, then _I really don't care for it._ He dumped the wash bin's contents into the public bathroom's toilet, and the mere smell of it caused the retching to start up again.

Without realizing it, he'd left the door to the bathroom wide open. A young woman, who happened to be on her way to the washroom at that moment, heard the noise.

"Newbie, huh?" she asked, and Jack wanted nothing more than to disappear through the floor.

"I guess you could say that," he croaked, and she smiled.

"I have some candied ginger in my room if you'd like it. It will help settle your stomach. Believe me, I've had enough hangovers to know this."

Jack was willing to try anything that would settle his nausea, and he nodded, grateful for the lady's concern. When she walked away, he hunched over the bowl again, though nothing but a bitter liquid came up. He collapsed against the floor, resting his head against the wall.

"Here," the woman announced when she returned, and offered Jack a small tin box. He accepted it, popping it open, and the strong scent of ginger protruded from it. The candies were tiny, no larger than a pin, and were a sparkling brown color. He took one and popped it weakly into his mouth. "Might want to take two or three," the woman told him thoughtfully. "One won't do it."

Jack took two more and sucked on them. The taste of the ginger itself was calming. It was a strange type of spice, similar to cinnamon.

"Thanks," he whispered after returning the tin to her. She closed it and stepped back.

"What's your name, kid?" she asked, helping him to his feet.

"Jack."

"I'm Melanie Hessey," she replied. "But everyone here just calls me Mellie. I haven't seen you before. Did you just move in?"

Jack nodded. "Well, my friend lives here. I'm just staying with him."

Melanie led him into the hallway. "Well, the only person your age in the building is Alexander Pullings. That's him, right?"

Jack wanted to laugh at the sound of his friend's full name, but he was too weary to make a joke of it. "Yeah. He was a neighbor of mine from Wisconsin years ago."

Melanie smiled. "So, how do you feel?" she asked, watching as he pondered the question for a moment. He shrugged, rubbing the back of his head.

"Well, my stomach's definitely empty now." He smirked, and she laughed.

"Yeah. It'll take at least an hour before you start feeling any different. But at least the ginger'll prevent you from getting sick again for a while."

Jack looked at her and nodded. "Thanks a lot," he told her thoughtfully. "I really appreciate it."

Melanie waved her hand briskly at him as though it were nothing. "Just get some sleep," she told him, and, after making sure he got back to his room without any trouble, she disappeared down the hallway and back into the bathroom. Jack entered the apartment just as Al was getting up, and his friend seemed to be in a bit of a daze himself.

"Mornin'," Al muttered, stretching. "Been up long?"

Jack shook his head. "Well, not too long, I guess."

"Doing okay?" Al added. Clearly he'd heard Jack getting sick in the room, and Jack felt himself turning pink with embarrassment.

"Better, thanks," he replied. "I don't think the beer agreed with me." He flopped down onto the pile of blankets, hugging his knees to his chest. The sounds of a new day's start were beginning to occur, and the building was slowly starting to come to life again.

Al snorted. "No kidding, Jack. You had at least six."

Jack's eyes widened. "Six?" he exclaimed, starting to gather his things. "And you didn't stop me?"

Al snickered. "Well, you seemed to be enjoying yourself. I didn't want to interrupt that. But, yeah, drinking that much does have consequences."

Jack groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "Well," he muttered, "I'll never do that again."

Al patted his shoulder. "You get used to it after a few tries. Believe me, I was sick for hours after my first time. You're lucky you only threw up a few times."

Jack didn't think it was anymore pleasant to throw up once or twice than it was to be doing it for hours on end, but he guessed his friend was right. He just knew he needed fresh air, and probably the smell of the salt from the ocean would be calming.

"Hey," he spoke up after a few moments of silence, which started when the boys began getting dressed, attempting to make themselves look somewhat decent for the public. Jack did miss having a good bath twice a day, lounging in Esther's bathtub filled with warm, soapy water. He didn't miss Olivia's sneaking in, splashing him, and then running away giggling. _Sisters, _he thought with a shake of his head as he picked through his art supplies. The money he'd made the previous day had gone towards dinner, and the beer, no doubt, so he was left with what he'd started on when he arrived. _Thankfully, I kept that in a safe place, _he thought. "Do you know Melanie Hessey?"

Al turned to him, an eyebrow raised. "Melanie…Mellie Hessey?" he asked, and Jack nodded.

"Yeah. She gave me some ginger when I was getting sick in the bathroom. She seemed to know you."

Al wet his lips. "Oh, yeah," he muttered. "I know her."

Jack cocked his head to one side. "Not good, huh?" he asked. Melanie hadn't seemed like a bad woman, though she did seem to have the ability to get a bit feisty at times.

"I'd keep away from her, Jack," Al replied.

"She's not the one who…"

Al nodded, and Jack gulped. "Yeah. That party," he agreed.

"Damn." Jack blew out his breath. "I guess she knew better than to take advantage of me when I was hung over." He chuckled.

"Don't get too comfortable," Al warned. "So. Going back to the beach today?" He peered out the window and his eyes widened. "Well, I'll be darned!"

Jack blinked. "What?" he asked, joining his friend. He hadn't really looked outside yet since he'd woken up, and he now saw that it was pouring rain. Al scratched his head in confusion and turned to his friend.

"It hardly ever rains in Santa Monica during this time of the year," he explained. "It's been so hot and dry lately. You must be good luck, then." He winked, and Jack snorted.

"Yeah, good luck." He set his duffle bag down. "Looks like the beach plan is out of the question," he added, and Al pointed at him.

"Well," he began slowly, "it's a good day to check up on that agent guy. You know, the one who gave you his card on the train? Maybe you could give him a call and set up an appointment."

Jack shrugged. He really wasn't quite ready to make the travel to Hollywood, not when he'd just arrived in Santa Monica. Besides, he'd barely gotten started on his private art business, and wanted to see what a couple more days of it would bring.

"Not quite ready for that yet," he admitted, and Al gave a shrug.

"It sounds like a golden opportunity, Dawson. If I had a talent like you with art, I'd be right on it."

Jack nudged his friend jokingly. "Hey," he replied. "They are looking for actors. You'd make a great candidate."

Al smirked. "Yeah, right. I could so see myself in a nickelodeon. Make a total idiot of myself, probably."

Jack folded his arms, giving Al a serious look. "But acting is basically just that," he replied. "Making an idiot of yourself in public. And you get paid for it."

Al snorted. "Nah, kid, I'd rather not be bogged down by that union. I'm enjoying my freedom here. But if you ever do get to LA, let me know."

The two decided to get a bit of breakfast together, and had to keep under the shops' and restaurants' multiple awnings. The rain was coming down pretty heavily, and Jack was greatly amused by the confusion of the Santa Monica residents, who were questioning the sudden change in weather. Was it really that bad that he'd left home and came here if rain was the only weather he brought? _I hope that doesn't become customary, _he thought as they entered the same diner that he'd been in on the first morning.

"Don't sweat it, Jack," Al soothed as they sat in one of the booths. "This is a good thing...we needed rain! Things were shriveling up!"

Jack leaned his chin in his palm and gazed out the window, watching as sheets of water flowed down the glass. "I guess a little rain can't hurt anyone," he agreed, and Al winked.

The waitress served them their usual cups of coffee, and the boys didn't even need to order. She rattled off what they'd gotten there the last time, and Jack looked at Al. "That's impressive," he whispered, and Al smirked.

"Doesn't get many customers this early in the morning," he replied.

"Al, I've been meaning to tell you something," Jack began, once they were settled. "If I do get this job in Hollywood, I'm not going to be staying with you. When I travel, I pretty much take everything with me."

Al raised an eyebrow and Jack shook his head. "It's not an insult or anything," he insisted. "I just can't stay in one place too long. Just like you can't hold one job down too long because you're afraid it'll keep you here permanently."

Al grinned. "No problem. At least you had some place to kip while you were here," he said. "So what kind of job do you think you'll get? Drawing movie stars? That would be something! Maybe ask them to pose nude for you?"

Jack stuck his tongue out. "Maybe. Or maybe I'll help design the sets for the films; sketch what they tell me they think they want, and then use that as floor plans when they start building it."

Al folded his arms. "You lucky bastard," he laughed, and Jack snorted. "I should have you autograph my napkin in case you're famous one day."

"Oh, give it up," Jack retorted. "I'm not even sure I'm going to get the job."

After breakfast, Jack and Al parted ways. Al went to his most recent place of employment and showed Jack where the telephone was in the apartment building. His hands were shaking so hard that he had a bit of difficulty ringing the operator after he removed the agent's card from his pocket. He caught sight of old Mr. Branson, the apartment's landlord, muttering quietly to himself as he read through the weekly account books. He seemed to realize that Jack was looking at him, and he gave a rather nasty glare.

"Charles Atwood speaking," a voice on the other end of the receiver suddenly spoke, causing Jack to jump. He swallowed, trying to wet his sandpaper-dry throat, and was afraid he'd sound like an idiot over the phone.

"Um…hello? This is Jack Dawson. I'm calling in reference to a job offer you gave me a little while back?"

"Dawson?" Mr. Atwood sounded confused. "I don't think I know anyone by that name. You sound like a kid, though."

Jack felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach, and was afraid he'd be sick on the spot. "Well, I met you on the train last week, Mr. Atwood, and you asked me if I'd like to work for you. Well, first you wanted to see if I'd be a star, and I said no…"

"Ah…right! You're that kid! The artist! I was waiting for you to call me, junior. You in town now?"

Jack felt his entire body sag with relief. "Well, I'm in Santa Monica right now, but I can catch a train to Hollywood as soon as I need to."

There was a pause, and Mr. Branson came up to Jack. "Hoggin' the phone, eh?" he asked, his voice sounding an awful lot like a toad's croaking. "Five minutes per call, kid. I ain't rich, you know."

Jack blushed, and watched as the old man hobbled back to his desk. "Yeah, the job is still open," Mr. Atwood finally spoke. "Can you be here by three o'clock this afternoon? We're starting auditions for our new film, and would like you to sketch headshots of the actors."

Jack felt his heart leap into his throat. "Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed. "I had to give myself a little time to think the offer over, or I'd have given you notice sooner."

"Four minutes, kid!" Mr. Branson shouted from his desk, and Jack glared at him.

"I'll be there, Mr. Atwood. Thanks again," he added, and, after they hung up, Jack shot one more nasty look at the landlord before making his way up to Al's room.

He stood in the doorway for a couple of moments, listening to the rain that splattered against the windowpane. He gathered his things and eventually made his way to the train station.


	11. Chapter 11

Jack reached Hollywood by noon, and, after paying the train fare, stepped to the ground. It wasn't raining at all here, and Jack had to hold his breath when his eyes caught the glare of the sun. Once the tickle in his nose faded, he sighed with relief and took his first look around the city. Or at least, the section he was currently standing in.

Los Angeles was definitely more spread-out than Santa Monica. There weren't as many families, either, he noticed.

Jack walked along one of the main streets, feeling like a foreigner. He'd forgotten to ask Mr. Atwood for directions to the studio; all he had was the building's address and telephone number.

"You look lost, sir. Might I be of some help?"

Jack whirled around. "Oh…I'm…I'm looking for this address," he stammered, and the young man who stood opposite him took the card and read it carefully.

"Stormwood Studios? Oh, what a coincidence…I'm going there, too!" The man stretched out his hand, and Jack did the same for a vigorous handshake. "Are you auditioning for the new film, too? My name is Harold O'Connor, by the way, but you can call me Harry. In fact, I insist."

Jack blinked; the man could certainly talk! He cleared his throat, feeling a little shy, and shook his head. "I'm not auditioning, but Mr. Atwood said there was a job for a set designer. I'm an artist. And my name is Jack…Jack Dawson."

Harry beamed and encouraged Jack to walk with him. "A pleasure, Jack. And, wow, you must be good if Mr. Atwood asked you specifically to take the job! I hear he's a rather difficult man to get along with; very picky about the quality of his employees, but I suppose one has to be in this business, do you reckon?"

Jack managed a smile. "Er…" was all he could think of to say, and Harry laughed heartily.

"Forgive me, Jack. I always talk too much. If I am, please don't be afraid that it'll upset me if you say it annoys you. I'm always being told I talk as fast as a locomotive, and I'm commonly known as Mr. Motormouth, you see. But I can tell you and I will be great friends already; where did you come from, by the way? Did you grow up in a different part of California, or are you from another state?"

Jack was about to answer when the sneeze that had hidden itself from sight decided to come out. Harry jumped in surprise and raised an eyebrow with concern once Jack straightened up again. "Bless you!" he exclaimed. "I hope you aren't getting sick. That wouldn't be good for your first week on the job."

Jack laughed. "No, not getting sick. Sunlight just bothers me sometimes."

Harry grinned back. "We must be nearly there, Jack…it says four hundred on that building, and Stormwood Studios is at 550 Lawrence Lane."

Jack nodded, checking his card. "And about talking too much, Harry," he began, "I don't think you're talking too much at all. It's always nice to have someone to talk to. I'm not from California, actually…I'm from Wisconsin. Chippewa Falls, to be exact."

Harry nodded. "I had an old girlfriend who was from that area. We broke up because she found some wealthy bloke." He shuddered. "I hate how this society is all about money."

"Will they be paying you much, acting?" Jack asked. He didn't know much about the entertainment business, personally, though it was certainly interesting to think about. He was pretty sure that anyone hired for an acting job would make a good bit of cash, considering it was they who had to carry the film to its success.

"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "About a hundred dollars per picture, I think." He shrugged. "It's a good sum, definitely, but then again, I'm not quite sure I'll get the role."

"Do you know what the movie is going to be about?" Jack asked, and at this point, they were already at 550 Lawrence Lane.

"Something about a lady serving a salad, and I'm supposed to audition for the part of the owner of the mansion the lady works for. They didn't tell me many details, but I heard the woman they got to play the lead is quite beautiful." He winked, and Jack laughed. "Oh, here we are!" he added, pointing to the studio. It was an old warehouse that had been clearly out of business for several years.

"Not very fancy, is it?" Jack pointed out, and Harry shrugged.

"I hear they make movie studios out of the most curious of places. And this is just supposedly the main headquarters; we're supposedly going to be shooting at a mansion."

"A mansion?" Jack wondered out loud. Perhaps the style of the mansion was something Mr. Atwood wanted him to sketch. He had done drawings of landscapes before; he knew he would be able to make his employer proud. Mr. Atwood had already taken a liking to his work on the train, so no doubt was there trust in him.

Harry hurried up the small set of steps to the main door and timidly opened it. The two of them stepped inside the dimly lit building, which had two floors. The first floor contained enormous pieces of machinery, covered in dust and cobwebs; there were at least twenty-five or more long tables, each covered with different types of tools. Jack wished he had about eight more pairs of eyes so he could take everything in.

"Mr. Atwood?" Harry called, his voice echoing along the steel walls. "Hello?" He looked at Jack with uncertainty as they passed through one of the aisles of tables.

"Mr. Atwood?" Jack repeated, wondering if they had been scammed. "Anyone here?"

"Hello, there!"

Both young men jumped with fright and saw a man coming out of the shadows. Jack recognized him immediately; Mr. Atwood certainly hadn't changed since their first introductions on the train to Santa Monica. "I apologize…I was in my office taking a call from Mr. Thomas Edison. He's planning on stopping by one of these days to survey our progress." Mr. Atwood did not sound the least bit excited about this, though; in fact, in Jack's opinion, he looked rather disgruntled.

"Thomas Edison?" Jack asked, surprised. "Wasn't he the man who invented the light bulb?"

Mr. Atwood let out a small grunt. "Yes, yes, he did. And he has been a great force in the movie industry; he's formed this blasted trust, trying to take control over every aspect of movie-making. Well, Mr. Gleeson and I won't stand for it. What's the use of being able to create something extraordinary if you have so many bloody restrictions?" He raised his hands exasperatedly and then his lips split into a grin. "I apologize, boys. I did not mean to go off like that. Come into my office, lads…the director is preparing your script, Mr. O'Connor. And Mr. Dawson, do you have your portfolio on hand to show him? Good, good. This way, chaps!" He took the lead, and Harry, thoroughly amused, nudged Jack and winked.

"Is this where the movie is going to be filmed, sir?" Jack asked as they walked further into the musty building.

"Oh, goodness gracious, no!" Mr. Atwood laughed. "We have not begun progress on the set yet; that is why we were planning on hiring an artist to come up with ideas for it. This is just our meeting place for script discussions and what have you."

"Oh." Jack had difficulty hiding his relief; he wasn't sure if he could stand working day in and day out in such a miserable place.

"Do you know where you're going to be filming this movie, Mr. Atwood?" Harry asked as they entered an office, which was well-lit by three medium-sized lamps. A rather large, beefy man sat at the desk by the wall, scribbling something on a piece of parchment and muttering to himself.

"Mr. Gleeson?" Mr. Atwood spoke up, and the director let out a low growl.

"Busy, Atwood!" he snarled, and Mr. Atwood cleared his throat.

"Yes, I apologize, but Mr. Dawson and Mr. O'Connor have arrived. Mr. O'Connor is here for his audition, and Mr. Dawson is your new scenic designer, sir."

Mr. Gleeson dropped his pen at once and stood up. "Ah…excellent, excellent. A pleasure. My name is Ed Gleeson; feel free to call me Ed. If you try calling me Eddie, you'll be out of here before you can say cut!"

Jack wet his lips, feeling butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. "Now, are both of you familiar with this film?" he asked, and the boys shook their heads.

"Well," Harry corrected himself, "I know generally but it's about, but I don't remember the title, sir."

Mr. Gleeson nodded. "The title of this film, which is only going to be five minutes in length, so not very long at all, is called _Bridget Serves the Salad Naked_. Staring Bridget Campbell, who is a lovely lady, it is mixing together on the edge art with film."

Jack felt his cheeks grow warm, and when he dared to look at Harry's expression, he found his friend's mouth hanging open in shock.

"Did I hear you correctly, sir?" Harry asked, shuffling his feet from side to side. "She's going to be serving a salad naked? Completely naked?"

Mr. Gleeson nodded. "Do you have a problem with that, boy? If you do, you can catch a train straight home."

Harry gulped. "Oh, n-no, I just…I was a little surprised."

Jack wondered whether Mr. Edison had the least idea what this movie was going to be about; he was certain the man would not be at all thrilled when he found out it was going to be a pornography film. Nudity today was considered disgusting, and even Jack, though he was exceptionally open as far as artwork was concerned, felt a little uncomfortable with the idea. But he had to take the job if he wanted to make any sort of living for himself.

"Naturally, it is going to be a silent picture," Mr. Gleeson said, "as we have not developed a way to add sound into the films. So the stars will have to focus on their movements and facial expressions. You may speak, but you must lip read as clearly as possible any lines you may have."

Harry nodded. "I'm not familiar with the movie business, sir, though I have acted onstage before."

"Good, good. Any experience in acting will be good for this position. Now Mr. Dawson, Mr. Atwood tells me you're a sensational artist. Do you have samples of your work that I might be able to look at?"

Jack was still trying to take in the idea of a film where the main female lead was going to be completely naked. He'd forgotten what he was there for.

"Oh…y-yes, I do." He timidly handed his portfolio to the director, who straightened his glasses on his nose and opened it eagerly.

Jack stood waiting anxiously for Mr. Gleeson's response. Harry sat down on one of the folding chairs, reading over the script. He suddenly let out a chuckle, apologizing afterwards when everyone jumped and stared at him.

When Jack felt he couldn't take the suspense any longer, Mr. Gleeson handed the portfolio back. "Well, boy, you're good," he complimented. "You're very good, in fact. Just the man I'm looking for."

Jack sighed in relief as he shook the director's hand, and by this point, Harry was laughing so hard that he was doubled over in his seat. "I take it you're willing to attempt an audition?" Mr. Gleeson asked, and Harry, when he managed to take a decent breath of air, nodded.

"Y-yes," he choked.

"Good. You'll follow me into the main room, and Jack…you'll stay in here, where Mr. Atwood will go over the details of what your job will entail…salary, your hours, etc."

Jack nodded, trying not to look too excited. "Thank you," he replied, and, after Harry and Mr. Gleeson disappeared, Mr. Atwood pointed to the large chair at the desk.

"Have a seat, son," he offered, and Jack shook his head.

"Actually, I don't mind standing," he replied, and Mr. Atwood raised an eyebrow.

"Don't be ridiculous," he retorted. "Sit."

Jack sat, feeling so tiny and insignificant amongst all of the clutter in the room. He watched as Mr. Atwood dug through one of the drawers in the oak desk and pulled out a folder. "I am going to have you sign your contract, Mr. Dawson. Your contract lasts for one year, which should be more than enough time to finish the film. If you decide, after you've completed your first set of drawings, that you like what you're doing, we will renew your contract. You will be making a dollar an hour, and will earn one percent of the film's profits. As the movie is not going to be very long; only five minutes, we're charging a nickel per customer."

Jack nodded, clearing his throat. "Will I…er…have to do nude drawings?" he blurted, and suddenly felt rather stupid. Mr. Atwood chuckled warmly and patted his shoulder.

"Yes, Jack, you will be expected to sketch portraits of the lead actress for advertising purposes. I assure you, you needn't be timid working for us. Mr. Gleeson is a very liberal-minded man; he's open to anything that comes to his head. As far as your hours are concerned, you will report to this building at seven o'clock Monday through Saturday, and your Sundays will be free, unless we're running behind schedule with the filming process. Are you understanding all of this?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. You will begin work first thing tomorrow morning. Now, if you please, would you please sign this form? Feel free to take time to read it over carefully, and if you have any other questions, don't hesitate to ask, all right?"

Jack nodded again. "Thank you," he replied, and took the contract into his hands. The print was very tiny, so he had to squint in order to read it. When he was sure he agreed with all that was required of him, he accepted the pen from Mr. Atwood and quickly signed his name on the bottom line.

"Excellent, excellent. Welcome aboard, Jack. Now, feel free to call me Charlie from now on, all right? We go by first names here."

Jack smiled. "Okay."

"So, I'll see you at seven AM sharp tomorrow, then?"

Another nod, and both men shook hands. Jack, beaming, left the tiny office and stopped to watch as Harry was finishing up his audition. Mr. Gleeson noticed Jack and gave a small wave, which Jack returned. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" he asked, and Mr. Gleeson nodded.

"Right you are. All right, Mr. O'Connor, that will do." Harry held his breath, looking worried. "You have the part."

Jack grinned, wondering how many people had come by for an audition, if Harry had gotten the part so fast. Clearly not as many others were as open-minded about a pornography film. "Thank you, Mr. Gleeson," Harry breathed, his body sagging with relief.

"Ed," Mr. Gleeson insisted. "Call me Ed. Now, boys, we'll see you first thing in the morning. Make sure you get a good night's sleep, because we'll be working hard."

"Yes, sir," Jack and Harry replied in unison before exiting the building together.

"Can you believe it?" Harry asked, breathless with pleasure as they began walking down the street. "It was easy as anything, that audition. I was scared to death, though, before I started. I'm not used to acting without having to read lines out loud."

"That's great," Jack replied. "Want to grab a beer to celebrate?"

Harry nodded. "Sure. There's a bar on Ashbridge that I've taken a liking to. Follow me," he said, and Jack complied.

For an hour or so, he and Harry sat at one of the corner tables in the dim bar, talking happily about their plans for the future. "If you need a place to stay," Harry began, "you can come to my building. There's been a room available for decades, it seems, and the landlady has been all in a flutter trying to find someone to take it."

"Why?" Jack asked, and Harry grinned mischievously.

"It's supposedly haunted," he said, and Jack snorted.

"You're joking, right?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I'm not sure. Every time I pass it to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I always hear someone knocking from the inside."

Jack shuddered. "Well, I…er…I don't believe in ghosts," he said firmly. "If it's a cheap room, then I'll take it."

Harry smiled. "Mrs. Logger will be thrilled."

"Does she know it's haunted?" Jack asked, and Harry nodded.

"Of course. She was still running this building when the occupant died."

Jack gulped. "What happened?" he asked, trying not to let his nerves get the better of him, and tried to focus on his beer.

"Happened five years ago," Harry began. "Supposedly there was a couple living in the room, and they had a rather nasty quarrel; ended with the husband shooting his wife and leaving in a rush. No one found the body until a week later."

Jack was grateful for the dim light; he was sure he was white as a sheet with fear.

"Oh." He swallowed. "Well, I—I'm sure it's just a story. People always want to make towns more exciting, so they make up things."

Harry laughed. "You're scared out of your wits, Jack. Admit it. Believe me, I don't go up there anymore after I heard that knocking. No one in my building does."

Jack set his lips in a straight line. "I'm taking that room, Harry, okay? If there is a ghost, then she'll have to live with me."

After they finished their beers, Jack followed Harry to his boarding house, where the landlady, a tall, thin old lady who reminded Jack seriously of a hag, was grateful when Harry announced that Jack wanted to take the vacant room.

"You have no idea how much help this is to me," Mrs. Logger said, her dark eyes wide. "I'm sure you've heard the stories?"

Jack nodded. "They're really true, then?"

Mrs. Logger nodded. "Sadly, they are. But don't you worry, son. She'll like you, I can tell, and she won't be a bother."

"She'll…" Jack gulped, and found himself staring at the door of Room 5. "Pardon the mess," Mrs. Logger apologized after opening the door. Jack sneezed as a large cloud of dust formed, and he waved his hand in front of his face. The room was very dim, containing a small bed in the corner with white sheets and an old, peach-colored comforter.

"We tried so hard to get the stains out of the sheets, but unfortunately, blood doesn't wash away that well." Mrs. Logger sighed, and Jack felt sick.

"Blood?"

"She was shot in her sleep, poor dear," Mrs. Logger said with a wistful sigh. "What a lovely lady she was, too. Not much older than you, in fact, and only married a year. Husband was a ruddy drunk; why she chose him, I'll never know. Poor thing found out too late."

Jack nodded, having a feeling he wouldn't be in his room very much. "Well…er…thank you for…" He cleared his throat.

"No trouble at all, my boy. Just make yourself at home."

When Mrs. Logger left, Jack stood in the center of the room, clutching his pack and portfolio, his heart racing in his chest. He immediately walked over to the bed, pulling down the comforter, searching for evidence of the lady's story. Sure enough, there was a large, faint brown spot in the center. "Why didn't they just change the sheets?" he asked aloud, wishing he hadn't tried to be so brave. "There are no such things as ghosts," he told himself, and began to set up his things.


	12. Chapter 12

When Jack finally settled in after a late dinner with Harry, he also settled into a fit of sneezing, too. Now that he had more time to spend in his room, he was beginning to realize how much dust was in there. It was ridiculous, in his opinion—no doubt Esther would have had a fit if she saw it. Jack groaned, lying down on his bed, and coughed. He wanted to sleep, but the sneezing wouldn't stop. Giving up at last, Jack went to the window, pulling it open. He stuck his head out, trying to suck in a good breath of sweet, late-evening air.

However, that ended in vain. He felt his chest tighten horribly, and fell to his knees on the floor. _No, _he thought, recognizing the feeling at once—he was having an asthma attack. It hurt when he attempted to breathe—he coughed, beads of sweat popping out on his forehead and cheeks. _Relax, _he told himself. _I have to relax. _He closed his eyes, trying to breathe through his nose, but more coughing and wheezing resulted.

He felt faint and immediately went back over to his bed. His lungs were on fire, and waves of panic rushed through him. If he passed out, no one would know about it…at least, not until morning. He needed to get help, but he was too weak to make it to the door, let alone downstairs.

Trembling, Jack closed his eyes again, trying to slow his breathing. _I'm going to pass out, _he thought, darkness clouding the edges of his vision.

Then, as he thought he would suffocate, he felt something ice cold brush over his forehead, and a soft, sweet voice began to sing an old love song. Jack, breathless, lay there, trying to listen to the words—it was one his mother used to sing whenever his father went away.

_Fair young maid all in the garden  
Strange young man passerby  
Said fair maiden will ya marry me?  
This then, sir, was her reply  
Oh, no, kind sir, I cannot marry thee…  
He's been gone for seven years  
Still no man shall marry me…_

His body began to relax considerably, though he still couldn't breathe very well.

_What if he's in some battle slain?  
Or drownded in the deep salt sea?  
What if he's found another love  
And he and his love both married be?  
I wish them health and happiness,  
Where they dwell across the sea…_

Jack groaned, desperately trying to draw a breath. The voice stopped singing, and, when he managed to turn towards it, he saw a figure standing by his bed. He couldn't make out the distinct features, but from the long hair, he could tell it was a woman. She lifted a hand towards her face, and let out a soft, "Shh."

Jack wanted to ask who she was, and what on earth she was doing in his bedroom, but he couldn't speak. He watched as the door drifted open, as though by a gust of wind, and realized at that moment how quiet the building was. He sighed, coughing into a fist, which only resulted in more wheezing.

Harry, meanwhile, had fallen asleep while reading his book. He didn't notice when the door to his room creaked open; nor when the miniature lamp on his desk blew out, leaving the room in complete darkness. Harry usually slept through anything; at least, he thought so.

A shadowy figure drifted across the hardwood floor, appearing to bend over Harry's sleeping form. "He needs your help, dear. You must go to him."

Harry's eyes snapped open suddenly, and he shot up in bed. "What?" he demanded, realizing no one was in the room at all. He then noticed how dark it had become, and didn't remember turning off the lamp. Clutching his book anxiously to his chest, he felt his breath quickening with fright.

It couldn't have been Mrs. Logger—she usually knocked before entering. "Jesus," he muttered, setting the book aside. He slid out of bed and went to turn the lamp on, but realized the light bulb wasn't working. "Shit. Must have burned out or something." He ran his fingers through his hair and was nearly jolted out of his skin by the sound of a loud crash from the floor above. The fifth floor. "Jack!" he cried, alarmed, and, after putting on his shoes and a robe, bolted out of the room and towards the staircase. He hated going up to the fifth floor, but if his friend was in trouble, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

"Jack!" Harry found the door to his friend's room wide open and saw Jack lying in bed. A chair lay overturned against the wall, a leg broken off of it. "What happened?" He hurried over to the bedside and felt his heart stop in mid-beat. Jack's face was deathly pale and covered with sweat, and he was wheezing horribly. "Oh, damn." He felt his friend's forehead, finding that he had a fever. "You have asthma, don't you?" he added, starting to recognize the symptoms; his brother had the same disease. Jack was able to manage a slight nod, gulping as though he were a fish out of water. "I'll be right back," Harry insisted. "I'm going to get Mrs. Logger. She'll be able to help." He dashed back out into the hallway, running down the steps in threes.

Mrs. Logger was sitting at the desk, which she usually did until midnight. "Mrs. Logger," he spoke, causing her to look up from her account books. "My friend's really sick…he's having an asthma attack."

Her eyes widened in alarm and she immediately put on her glasses, getting out of her chair. "Run out to the back garden and fetch me some eucalyptus leaves," she ordered. "We'll boil them and make them into a tea. The fumes should help open up his airways."

"There has to be a faster way," Harry told her.

"Bring a few of the leaves up to him and just the scent from the fresh eucalyptus will be a start. Go, hurry!"

Harry ran out into the cold night air, his teeth chattering as he ran around to the tiny herb and vegetable garden in the back of the apartment. He found the eucalyptus trees, pulling off as many leaves as he felt were necessary. When he went back into the building, Mrs. Logger took a handful of the leaves into the miniature kitchen and Harry hurried back upstairs. He entered Jack's room and pulled the banged-up chair against the side of the bed. It wobbled to the side a bit, but he didn't care.

"Jack," he spoke, touching his friend's shoulder. "I have some eucalyptus leaves for you. Can you sit up a little?"

Jack allowed Harry to ease him against the headboard, but his breathing seemed to grow worse with movement. "Hang in there," Harry encouraged. "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine, all right?" He encouraged Jack to breathe in the scent of the leaves, though any effort to breathe deeply through his nose caused his friend to sob from the pain. "Do you have any medicine you take for this?" Harry asked, wishing Mrs. Logger would hurry up with the tea.

Jack, after coughing, nodded, and Harry spotted his travel pack sitting on top of the desk. He eased Jack against the pillows before running over to it. He wrenched the bag open, searching frantically for a pill container. He just found the medication when Mrs. Logger entered with the pot of tea and a porcelain mug. "Oh, thank God," he said with relief as she set the pot on the desk. "I've just found his medicine."

"He'll choke on it," Mrs. Logger told Harry seriously. "It's not wise to give someone a pill if they're not breathing well." She smoothed Jack's feverish forehead, brushing his hair away from his eyes. "Oh, my dear, I am so sorry," she apologized. "I haven't cleaned up here in so long. I should have been more considerate."

Harry carefully poured a cup of tea and brought it over to Mrs. Logger. "Thank you," she told him. "The leaves didn't help much, did they?" she asked, and Harry shook his head.

"He's doing pretty badly."

Mrs. Logger held the mug under Jack's head and told him to take as deep of a breath as he could. "The steam will help," she said, and Jack, wide-eyed with fright, tried to do what he was told. The eucalyptus steam eased its way into his system, causing his nerves to calm down considerably.

_He took her up in all his arms  
And kisses gave her one, two, three  
Sayin' weep no more my own true love,  
I am your long lost John Reilly…  
Sayin' weep no more my own true love,  
I am your long lost John Reilly…_

Jack gulped, hearing the gentle woman singing again. "Do…" He gasped. "You hear her?"

Mrs. Logger smoothed his hair back again. "Hear whom, love?" she asked, and Harry looked scared from where he stood by the window.

"That…woman?"

_Sayin' weep no more, my own true love…  
I am your long lost John Reilly…_

"Dear, I do not know what you're talking about."

Jack felt his chest open up considerably at this point, and was able to take a good gulp of air. "The…ghost," he gulped, and Harry bit his lip.

"She's singing to you, Jack?" he asked, and Mrs. Logger looked at him.

"You've heard it, too?"

Harry scuffed the side of his shoe against the floor. "I have heard singing from upstairs late at night on occasion, but…"

"Can you tell me what she's singing, Jack?" Mrs. Logger asked once she saw that Jack was beginning to calm down again.

He swallowed, his throat feeling as dry as sandpaper. "I've heard it before," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "John Reilly?"

Harry and Mrs. Logger looked at each other, and then back at Jack. "How come we couldn't hear her just now when we could before?" Harry asked, confused.

Mrs. Logger allowed Jack to sip from the teacup once it had cooled off and stood from the chair. "I think she only comes when she thinks we need her."

"Need her?" Harry asked. "I don't need a ghost scaring me out of my wits, thanks."

"She's not scary, though," Jack told him after he drank most of the tea. "She sounds sad."

"Who wouldn't be after her husband killed her?" Harry asked.

"But you don't feel frightened when you hear her sing, do you, son?" Mrs. Logger asked Harry. "When do you hear her most often?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Well, now that you mention it, when I'm kind of stressed out about something, I find myself standing at the bottom of the staircase and…it's almost like I expect to hear something, you know?"

Mrs. Logger nodded. "And you hear her voice from this room."

Harry frowned. "So she's like a paranormal psychologist, eh?"

Jack managed a small chuckle, and Mrs. Logger shook her head. "Dear, you shouldn't try to exert yourself at all. I can move you to another room if you like; I was hoping someone would fill this, but it's clearly not fit for the living."

Jack shook his head. "I can stay here. I don't mind," he insisted, and Harry gave him a strange look.

"You want to stay in here? And have you risk another asthma attack? Are you mad?"

Mrs. Logger looked at Harry. "Of course, we'll set to cleaning this room tomorrow and changing the bedding. I suppose I felt guilty touching anything after the poor girl died. It felt wrong somehow."

"Why did you want someone to fill the room, then?" Harry asked. "Wouldn't that be invading her space?"

Mrs. Logger looked at him. "Well, it's economical, and I think it had to be the right person. I've tried, Mr. Dawson, but you seem to be the only one she hasn't frightened away. I think, as I said before, she has taken a liking to you."

Jack sighed. "Well, I would like to stay, then, if she'll have me."

"That would be very kind, dear. But do be aware that I will be cleaning this place for a good part of the day tomorrow, so you may not have privacy for a good couple of hours."

"Well," Harry broke in, "Jack and I will be working at the studio from seven in the morning 'til at least seven at night, so you can take all the time you want."

Jack groaned; he'd completely forgotten about the job in the event of his illness, and wasn't sure how he'd survive a twelve hour workday. He had to go, especially since he'd just been hired. "Then you should rest as much as you can tonight, dear," Mrs. Logger told Jack. "Are you feeling better? Do you wish for me to send for the doctor?"

Jack shook his head. "No," he croaked. "I'm feeling better, thanks."

"Phew!" Harry ran a hand across his forehead. "That's a relief. You should take your medicine anyway, just in case." He handed the pill bottle to Jack, who nodded in agreement. "Well, if you don't need anything else, I'll be heading back to bed myself. I'll come get you when it's time to go?" he asked, and Jack nodded softly.

"Okay." He swallowed one of the pills from the bottle and put the cap back on it. "Thanks, Harry."

Harry saluted him. "Anytime. G'night, Mrs. Logger."

Mrs. Logger nodded politely and watched as he left for his own room. Jack handed her the mug at that moment, which was a good thing, because he sneezed a moment later.

"Bless you." Mrs. Logger chuckled. "Well, I'll be downstairs until midnight, so feel free to come fetch me if you start to feel ill again."

Jack nodded. "Thanks," he croaked, and settled back down against the mattress as she left. He did feel considerably better than he had a few moments before, though he still felt a tiny bit dizzy. He closed his eyes, smiling softly when he felt someone pull the blankets up to his shoulders, and drifted off to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

When Harry woke Jack early the next morning, he found his friend in a rather foul mood. Not that it surprised him, really. After all, Jack had only recovered from the asthma attack just a few hours before, and now he was expected to take on a twelve-hour workday.

Harry waited at the bottom of the stairs for his friend, not wanting to get in the way. "Are you sure he'll be all right?" Mrs. Logger asked, highly concerned as she prepared her things at the front desk. Harry glanced over his shoulder with a small smile.

"Well, unfortunately, Mrs. Logger, Jack doesn't have much of a choice. We've just been hired, so it wouldn't look too good if he had take a sick day when he hasn't even really started working yet."

Mrs. Logger adjusted her spectacles just as Jack made his way down the steps, and she gave him a polite nod. "Morning," Jack grumbled, his skin still too pale for Harry's liking.

"Have a good day, boys," Mrs. Logger replied, and Harry led the way outside.

"You…er…" Harry cleared his throat. "Look a little better today, Jack."

Jack sighed heavily. "Yeah," he muttered. "I wish I could say the same for how I really feel." They walked to the studio, and Jack was rather surprised to see a fancy carriage parked on the street. Harry and Jack stepped into the street, and Harry nudged Jack's shoulder.

"I'll bet that's Bridget's carriage," he whispered. "She's supposed to be rather well-off."

Sure enough, a beautiful woman stepped out of her carriage, taking the valet's hand. Jack felt his cheeks growing warm; she was tall and slender, with sleek black hair pulled into a French twist at the back of her head. She wore a cream-colored dress that went down to her ankles and a pair of white flats. Around her neck hung a string of pearls, and she wrapped a gray mink stole around her shoulders.

"Good day to you, Miss Campbell. Shall I come for you at 7:30?"

Bridget gave a small nod. "Yes, Hartley. 7:30." She seemed to feel Jack and Harry's eyes on her, and turned slowly towards them. Jack gulped, wishing he could sink right through a hole in the street.

"Might I help you?" she asked, and Jack, though he tried very hard to speak, found that his voice seemed to have died with embarrassment. Harry, however, took Bridget's hand and kissed it gently.

"You must be Bridget Campbell, I assume?" he asked, and Jack stared.

"Why, yes, I am." She lifted her head high. "Who might you be?"

Harry stepped back a pace. "Well, Mr. Gleeson just hired me yesterday, Miss. I'll be acting opposite you in the film."

Bridget let out a hearty laugh, which nearly startled Jack out of his skin.

"Oh, how wonderful! I was hoping he was going to hire a lad as handsome as yourself!"

Harry turned to Jack and winked. "This here is my friend, Jack Dawson. He's the artist."

Jack numbly shook hands with Bridget, who flashed him another one of her amazing smiles. "Well, the pleasure is all mine, surely!"

"Y-yes, Miss Campbell," Jack stuttered, and Harry smirked, checking his watch.

"Well, we'd better go inside before Mr. Gleeson has all of our heads." He took the lead, and Bridget gave a soft chuckle as Jack hurried to catch up. He couldn't believe it…he would have to draw her naked? He was sure he would die on the spot when she undressed in front of him.

"Good morning, my dear!" He could hear Mr. Gleeson's booming voice. "I see you've met our new hires, eh?" He eyed Jack with an expression of pride, and Jack had to duck out of sight when his chest tightened a little, causing him to cough.

"Where is Mr. Atwood?" Bridget asked, taking Mr. Gleeson's arm and following him into the factory. Harry grabbed Jack's arm from where he stood behind one of the pieces of machinery and dragged him along.

"He's in my office," Mr. Gleeson explained. "Mr. Edison has…well…dropped in to see how our progress is going, and I'm afraid we're in a bit of a ruffle."

Thomas Edison was there. Jack felt sick; this was not what he wanted to deal with right now. Not when he still felt lousy, and when he wasn't sure he could perform to his best abilities.

"Oh, how delightful! You must introduce me!" Bridget exclaimed.

"Boys, come with me," Mr. Gleeson announced, just as Mr. Atwood and a thin, gray-haired man with a thin beard stepped out of the office door. Mr. Atwood looked distinctly annoyed, and the great inventor was merely chatting casually, as though he did not notice at all.

"Just in time! Just in time!" Mr. Gleeson chuckled, and Mr. Edison lifted his gaze to the director.

"Ah…" he spoke, and Jack was rooted to the spot.

"Sir, it's an honor to meet you," Harry said happily, shaking his hand.

"Thank you. Mr. Gleeson, I've been going over your script with Mr. Atwood, and I'm not…entirely sure this is an acceptable piece for society's viewing."

"In other words, he thinks it's abominable to show a naked woman serving salad," Mr. Atwood growled, and Jack felt his heart sink. "It is pure pornography!"

"Pornography!" Mr. Gleeson cried. "Nudity is art, sir."

"And what exactly is the point of this picture?" Mr. Edison asked, and Mr. Gleeson looked at Jack and Harry.

"Er…boys, will you be kind enough to escort Miss Campbell to her dressing room? Help yourselves to a cup of coffee."

Jack was grateful to escape and hurried after his friend and Miss Campbell to a room in the back of the studio. They shut themselves into her dressing room, and Bridget removed the pins from her hair.

"Miss Campbell, I…" Jack started, and she tossed her mink stole to him. He quickly hung it up and accepted a cup of fresh coffee from Harry.

"That man is so terribly old-fashioned!" Bridget cried, shaking her hair loose. "That's the second time he's attempted to ambush us by coming in early in the morning. Thinks he can catch us off guard by dropping in very early in the morning. Well, Mr. Gleeson is onto him now. We'll do the picture our own way. Great inventor indeed!"

Harry sipped from his cup of coffee, watching as Bridget began applying makeup to her cream-colored skin.

"Ma'am?" Jack finally spoke, feeling a bit more comfortable around her now. Bridget finished powdering her nose, and then produced her lipstick from her purse.

"Yes?" she asked, after smoothing a bit of it on her lips. Once she put it away, she turned to face Jack.

"I thought…er…that I should let you know that I'll be the one drawing you…"

Bridget chuckled warmly. "Naked? Yes, yes, Mr. Gleeson informed me of that. Are you really as brilliant as he told me you were?"

Jack felt his cheeks burning again. "Well, I'm…I…" She pointed to his portfolio before he could finish his sentence.

"Might I see what you've done?" she asked, and without a word, Jack automatically handed her his sketchpad and tried to ignore Harry's expression of deepest amusement.

Bridget carefully flipped through the worn pieces of paper, her green eyes narrowed in concentration. She was still peering closely at the sketches when there was a knock on the dressing room door. "Yes?" she called, not looking up.

"Are you decent, Bridget?" Mr. Gleeson asked, and she grinned.

"Yes, of course. Do come in," she replied, handing the portfolio to Jack, along with a kiss on the cheek. "You are a wonderful artist," she told him softly. "I do believe you'll do me justice with your talent."

Jack smiled back, pleased. "Thanks," he replied just as Mr. Gleeson stepped in.

"He's gone, thank heavens," he announced, and Bridget sank back into her chair, raising her arms with relief. "If he thinks," Mr. Gleeson continued, "that we're going to give in and follow what every other idiot film creator has done, he has another think coming. Creativity, dammit! That's what it's all about! I'm sick of being restricted by such formalities!"

Jack swallowed, wishing he could lie down and take a nap. Every joint ached, and his head was still rather stuffy.

"Good for you, sir!" Harry exclaimed. "What did he say?"

"Well, naturally, I didn't say any of that to his face," Mr. Gleeson replied. "Oh, no. That would have been the death of us. Mr. Edison is very powerful, you see. I continued to bribe him on the idea that nudity is the new wave of interested artists, and no doubt people would be flocking to the nickelodeon theaters to see it. He just stared at me for a few moments and then said that he'd see about that before leaving in a huff."

"So we're still able to make the picture, Ed?" Bridget asked, brushing her shiny black hair. Mr. Gleeson was about to reply when Jack startled them all by sneezing loudly.

"Sorry," he apologized quickly, and Mr. Gleeson folded his arms.

"All right there, Jack?" he asked. "I noticed that you looked a bit peaked this morning."

Jack shrugged. "I'm fine," he lied, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"He had an asthma attack last night, sir…I mean…Ed," he corrected himself. "It was pretty bad, too."

Jack glared, wanting more than anything to slug Harry. It was one thing to mention his illness around the director, but to embarrass him in front of the lead actress was much worse.

"Really? Are you all right to continue working today, lad?" Mr. Gleeson asked, sounding truly concerned, and Jack nodded.

"Yeah," he replied. "I think I'll be fine, sir."

"Ed, Jack, Ed." Mr. Gleeson laughed. "I refuse to listen to any of that sir business. I'm already forty! I don't want to be reminded of being an old man every day!"

Bridget giggled at his comment and turned her attention back to her reflection in the mirror. "Well," Mr. Gleeson added, blowing out his breath. "Shall we give Miss Campbell some privacy? Harry, my boy, I still have to show you to your own dressing room. Come along, now." He ushered Jack and Harry out of Bridget's dressing room, and Mr. Gleeson shut the door quietly behind them.

Jack still wanted to tell Harry off once they were away from Bridget, but now that he thought about it, it was probably best that Mr. Gleeson knew about his health. It was better than his accidentally thinking Jack was a lazy worker and not living up to his expectations.

Jack sneezed again, trying to stifle it, but only succeeded in painfully popping his ears.

"Bless you," Harry told him quickly, and Mr. Gleeson glanced over his shoulder.

"Perhaps you need some fresh air?" he suggested. "It is rather dusty in here."

Jack cleared his throat, shaking his head after he gave his nose a blow with his handkerchief. "No, I'll be fine. Thanks." They arrived at Harry's dressing room, and Harry peered curiously through the doorway. It wasn't nearly as big as Bridget's space, but it was still nicely furnished and well-lit.

"You'll find your costume all hung up in the closet there," Mr. Gleeson explained, pointing to the specific location. "The actual makeup artist won't be here 'til noon. Jack," he added, "come with me so I can help give you direction about what I want you to do as far as sketches go."

Jack nodded, wishing his nose would settle down. He rubbed it with irritation, entering once again into the director's crowded office.

"Now. You know about Bridget's portrait," he began, "and I'll want that done fairly quickly."

Jack nodded in understanding. "I told her I'd be doing the drawing…Ed," he replied, feeling a bit awkward calling his boss by his first name.

"Yes. She is very comfortable with the entire project. In fact, it is because of her father that we are even able to do this. He is generously funding the film, actually." He laughed at the look of surprise on Jack's face. "Oh, come now. Not all elderly men are along the same line of attitude as Mr. Edison and his cronies. No, Mr. Campbell was thrilled when he found out about this picture; I think the fact that we asked his daughter to star in it thrilled him moreso."

"He knows she's naked, right?" Jack asked, smirking, and Mr. Gleeson nodded.

"Yes, and he's perfectly fine with the idea. Now if only Mr. Campbell can convince that thick-headed Edison…" He cracked his knuckles.

Jack nodded and quickly excused himself before sneezing for the fourth time. "Sorry," he croaked, and Mr. Gleeson raised an eyebrow.

"You really should be home taking care of yourself, Jack," he said. "You'll still be paid once I give you a list of assignments. There are days I will allow you to do your work from home. Of course, once we start building the sets, I'll need you here for most of the day as sort of my…how would you say it…visual assistant."

Jack wet his lips, not sure what to say. The idea of working from home for part of the time as well as being on location was certainly intriguing. Still, it was only his first day, and he didn't want to make a bad impression on his new boss.

"I just…I just don't want to leave you in a…bad spot…" He had to turn away with yet another sneeze, and Mr. Gleeson offered him a fresh handkerchief. "Thanks," Jack whispered, and the director shook his head.

"I insist you take the rest of the day off, Jack, after I give you your work list. As long as this doesn't become a daily ritual, I'll let today slide, all right? I just don't want you sneezing yourself to death here."

Jack sighed, guilt gripping at his stomach. "Thank you, Ed. I really appreciate it. I only had an asthma attack last night because my new apartment hadn't been cleaned in almost five years, and it should be cleaned today, so I'll be fine for tomorrow."

Mr. Gleeson nodded with approval and clasped Jack on the shoulder. "You're a good man, Jack," he replied. "There aren't many like you around here these days. I can tell we're going to get along fine."

With that, Mr. Gleeson began to jot down a list of sketch subjects he wanted Jack to complete. "When you come in tomorrow, I'll go through what you've done and will see which I like best. Try to do two versions of each if you will, possibly at different angles and shades. All right?"

Jack nodded. "I'll have it finished, sir." He struggled to his feet, and, after shaking Mr. Gleeson's hand, made his way to the main door. Harry, who saw his friend heading off, asked the director what was going on.

"I told him he could take the day off," Mr. Gleeson replied. "I'm glad you told me about the asthma, Harry. He'll be back tomorrow, of course."

Harry listened as the door opened and closed, and turned to go back to his dressing room.

Jack took his time returning to the apartment, having a feeling that the cleaning would take most of the day. He tried to steady his breathing by walking along the beach, taking in the calming scent of the salt air. He listened to the seagulls as they cried overhead and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

He didn't actually return home until just around one o'clock, where he found Mrs. Logger frantically scrubbing the floors and the widows. "Oh!" she gasped, when he opened the door, and he saw that she had a bandanna around her head to keep her hair out of her eyes. The sheets had been stripped from the bed, and a fresh new set took the place of the old ones. "I wasn't expecting you so soon," she added, standing, and grimacing as she rubbed her sore knees.

"Well, I wasn't expecting to come back until this evening, either," Jack admitted, "but I'm really not feeling well, still, and my boss let me take the rest of the day off. You can keep cleaning," he told her, "if you want. I have some drawings I have to do for tomorrow, and I'd hate to sleep the day away and forget about them."

Mrs. Logger smiled. "Well, dear, you shouldn't have to work with an old lady's interruptions. Why not go downstairs to my study and do your work there? It's warm and comfortable…"

Jack managed to bury his face in his arm just before sneezing yet again. "And there are plenty of handkerchiefs in the top drawer," she added, and Jack looked at her.

"Thank you," he replied.

"I shouldn't be much longer," Mrs. Logger promised. "You do look exhausted, dear. Shall I put on a pot of tea before you begin working?"

Jack nodded. "That would be great," he agreed, and she looked relieved to be given another task to do.

"All right. Well, go on downstairs, then, and I'll be with you shortly."

Jack walked down the narrow staircase and found Mrs. Logger's private study. It was a cheerful room, a bit larger than his own. It contained shiny oak furniture, covered with light green and rose print cloth. He took a seat on the couch after finding the stash of handkerchiefs and propped open his sketchbook on his knees.

_This, _he told himself, as he began to sharpen a fresh piece of charcoal, _is certainly the life_.


	14. Chapter 14

Jack worked on his sketches until late afternoon, when Mrs. Logger brought him a bowl of soup.

"You didn't have to do that," he insisted as she set the tray down on the desk.

"Don't worry about it, dear." She smiled and left the room. Unfortunately, Jack had to admit that he hadn't been feeling that hungry. But since he'd skipped breakfast, he figured he'd attempt to take something down.

The steam from the broth soothed his still-stuffy nose, and it felt wonderful sliding down his throat. He managed to finish the chicken soup, and afterwards, felt content and rather sleepy. He gazed at his drawings, deciding to put a finishing touch on a few of them before going up to his room to take a nap.

He didn't wake up until Harry returned from the studio, which was around eight o'clock. "Jack?" Harry knocked twice before letting himself in. "You haven't been sleeping all day, have you?" he asked.

Jack muttered under his breath, rubbing his eyes. "No," he croaked. "Did some work until about 5:30. Then I fell asleep." He reached under his pillow for a handkerchief and blew his nose. "How did the rest of your day go?" he asked once he cleared his throat.

Harry sat down on the desk chair, which Mrs. Logger had fixed as best as she could. "Well, we read through the script—Bridget and I, that is, and then we practiced memorizing lines. Great girl, she is. Hard to believe she's single!"

Jack snorted. "I thought it was a silent movie, though," he pointed out, and Harry shrugged.

"It is," he agreed, and Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Then why are you two memorizing lines?"

Harry smiled. "Well, it's more a lip-reading thing. It's not going to be very long, but Mr. Gleeson said it might be even more of a hit if the audience could imagine what Bridget and I were saying to each other. You should have seen some of her facial expressions, Jack. She's absolutely…"

"Why don't you ask her out, Harry?" Jack laughed. "You seem to really like her."

Harry looked shocked. "I couldn't," he said. "She's at least three years older than I am. Besides, it's almost scandalous to date someone you work with. It's a shame you didn't feel well enough to stay with us, though. We did have a good time…it was hard to believe the twelve hours went by so fast."

Jack lowered his head. "I still feel pretty bad about leaving early," he admitted, and Harry patted his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I blabbed about your asthma attack, Jack. It really wasn't fair of me," he apologized, "at least, to mention it in front of Bridget. But I thought Mr. Gleeson should know, especially since he thought you looked…"

Jack folded his arms. "Peaky, yeah. Well, no harm done, I guess. I just don't want to be pitied, you know? I may not be the healthiest person alive, but I'm not helpless."

Harry nodded in understanding and pulled out his pocket watch. "Have you had dinner yet?" he asked. "I'm starving, and I was thinking of grabbing something to eat for dinner. Want to come?"

Jack yawned, glancing out the window. The sky was clear that night, filled with sparkling stars. A half-moon glittered above their building.

"I don't know," he replied. "I'm trying to catch up on my sleep from last night so I can actually perform to Mr. Gleeson's standards. But thanks anyway," he said, and Harry cocked his head to the side.

"Did you eat, though? You said you went to sleep around 5:30. You probably didn't even have lunch today."

Jack frowned. "Well, Mrs. Logger gave me a bowl of soup and some toast for lunch, and I had that."

"Come on, Jack. Some fresh air'll do you good," Harry encouraged, hopping up from the chair. "We won't go too far, either, since I know you're still a little woozy."

Jack sighed, defeated. "Okay." He finally gave in. "Let me just get my shoes on." He slid off the edge of the bed and slipped on his shoes, quickly fixing his slightly sleep-ruffled hair. Grabbing his sketchbook, he finally followed Harry out of the room, and they made their way down the dimly lit staircase.

"So," Harry began, but Mrs. Logger reached them before he could continue.

"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked, and Jack smiled.

"A lot better, thanks," he insisted.

"We're just going out to get some dinner," Harry explained, and Mrs. Logger quickly felt Jack's forehead. He blushed, hating the fact that she felt the need to act like his mother.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked, still not sounding convinced. "I could cook you something here in the apartment."

Harry wet his lips, trying not to laugh, and Jack cleared his throat.

"Really," he replied. "I'll be fine."

Harry patted his friend's shoulder. "I'll take good care of him, Mrs. Logger," he insisted, and the older woman finally nodded.

"I'm sure you will. Just come straight home if you start to feel the least bit dizzy," she added, and Jack fought not to roll his eyes.

"Yes, Mrs. Logger," he replied, and he quickly pulled Harry out the main door and onto the sidewalk. "You see why I hate people knowing about this?" he asked, raising his arms in exasperation. "I hate being coddled!"

"Well, I wasn't about to leave you to die last night, you know!" Harry snapped, and Jack's expression fell. For a moment, they stood in awkward silence, and Jack finally lowered his head. "Jack, I just don't want something to happen to you again, okay? I was never more scared in my life than I was when you had that asthma attack."

Jack sighed. "You're right," he agreed. "I'm sorry."

They continued walking, and Jack kept his free hand in his trouser pocket. "What…er…" He finally spoke. "…were you going to say before Mrs. Logger cornered us?" he asked, and Harry looked at him.

"Well, I was gonna ask if I could see what you've done so far for Mr. Gleeson. If he told you that you couldn't show anybody, that's fine," Harry added quickly when Jack started to respond, and Jack laughed.

"No, he didn't say anything like that. I don't mind showing you, though, but I'm not sure if it's my best work."

Harry smirked. "Please, Dawson. All your work's your best work. You're brilliant."

Jack blew out his breath, and then realized with a start that he had to sneeze again. Harry noticed this, and stepped back, smirking.

"Dammit! I hate it when that happens!" Jack cursed when the feeling disappeared seconds later.

"Staring at a light helps," Harry suggested, and pointed to one of the streetlamps. "Maybe stare into one of them?"

Jack looked at him. "Well, I know sunlight definitely helps." He chuckled, and that seemed to be the cue he needed.

"Bless you." Harry laughed heartily as Jack sneezed loudly. After he straightened up, Jack rubbed his chest, cringing.

"Ow," he croaked. "That hurt."

"Sorry." Harry snickered. "Come on…please let's find a place to eat. My stomach's really growling."

Jack grinned as, sure enough, Harry's stomach let out a rather loud rumble. "My parents used to tell my sister that it was a monster who made that noise in her stomach," he said as they found a sidewalk café to walk into.

"Oh, yeah." Harry laughed. "Best thing to tease the siblings with. I tortured my brother with that all the time. Hey, he has asthma, too. Did I tell you?" he asked, and Jack shook his head as the two of them found seats by the window.

"Glad I'm not the only one," Jack told him, and a waitress came over to their table.

"What can I do for you two?" she asked, holding a little pad in her hands.

Jack and Harry glanced through the menus, and, after ordering drinks, they ordered a hot dog each. "I haven't had a hot dog in ages," Jack admitted as he peered around the café with interest.

"Really?" Harry asked once the waitress put two freshly brewed iced teas on the table, and Jack nodded his head.

"I spent most of my life in Wisconsin, so I was never really exposed to that kind of thing. At least, not until I came to Los Angeles. I had my first one there."

"They don't have hot dogs in Wisconsin?" Harry asked, surprised, as he finished most of his iced tea in three gulps. Jack shrugged.

"Not really. My town was really tiny and very old fashioned. Very well, it didn't have any huge desire to move with the times. The only way you'd find that we were mobilizing at all, was the sawmills and such. Besides, the woman I was staying with, Esther Williams, was very picky about what she let us eat."

Harry looked up. "The woman you lived with? What about your parents?"

Jack sipped his iced tea, clearing his throat again. "They died in a fire two years ago," he replied, and Harry shook his head.

"Wow," he breathed. "I'm sorry."

Jack shrugged. "Well, I've…I've gotten used to it now, I guess. I left town when I turned sixteen after I saved enough money working as a bellboy at the one hotel. I went to Santa Monica first, where I met up with a friend of mine from grade school, and stayed with him for a week or so…I sketched portraits on the beach for five cents apiece."

Harry took another sip of iced tea. "And you survived on that?" he asked just as the waitress brought their hot dogs to the table.

"Well, I still had money left over from my other job," Jack explained. "But anyway…you wanted to see what I've done so far?"

Harry had just taken a bite of his hot dog, and, because his mouth was full at the moment, he nodded and motioned with his hand for Jack to hand over the portfolio. Once he swallowed, he put the hot dog down and flipped open the cover of the portfolio. "You carry this thing everywhere, don't you?" he asked, and Jack smiled, taking a bite of his own hot dog.

"Pretty much. It's just a habit I got into."

"Wow!" Harry exclaimed, peering closely at the first couple of drawings. "So this is what Mr. Gleeson was trying to get us to imagine."

"He said he had a few models of places he wanted to use for the mansion, but he couldn't decide exactly what he wanted it to look like. I decided to go with a castle-like mansion, and then a more modest cottage."

"This one's kind of like a mixture of the two," Harry said, pointing at the third drawing. "I like that one the best, I think. Imagine all this work building a set for just a five-minute picture." He shook his head, shutting the portfolio, and handed it back to Jack.

"Yeah. Well, he said he could borrow a mansion from someone, but it's always a little awkward filming inside of a private home."

Harry agreed. "Yeah. How long did he say it would take to build the set when he chose the one he wanted?"

Jack shook his head. "He didn't say. I'd imagine at least a couple of weeks."

Harry finished the last of his hot dog and nodded. "That's an idea, I guess. Would take less time, definitely."

After Jack finished his dinner, they both paid the waitress and headed back to the apartment. Jack had to admit to himself that he did feel considerably better out in the open air; something about the hint of the salt breeze coming from the ocean was exceptionally comforting.

"Well," Harry grunted once they walked inside. "I'm off to bed. See you in the morning, then?"

Jack nodded, yawning himself. "Yeah, see you. Thanks, Harry."

Harry saluted him, and Jack made his way back to the fifth floor. As he walked towards his bedroom, he could have sworn he heard what sounded like someone singing a verse of _John Reilly _again. He paused outside of his door and timidly pressed his ear against it.

_He took her up in all his arms, and kisses gave her one, two, three  
Sayin' weep no more my own true love,  
I am your long lost John Reilly…_

Jack slowly opened the door and peered into the darkness. "You don't have to go away," he insisted when the voice ceased. He looked around, hoping to see the ghostly figure from the night before, but he saw nothing.

"I don't wish to bother you anymore," a quiet female voice spoke, and Jack sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Where are you?" he asked, looking around, and he saw her. She was standing by the window, wearing a white silk gown. She had long golden hair and her eyes were wispy and hollow. Jack felt his breath catch in his throat.

"I do not reveal myself to many people," the ghost of the woman spoke, and Jack continued to stare at her.

"You saved my life," he told her after a few moments of awkward silence. "I wanted to thank you, actually."

She smiled softly. "You're a sweet boy," she told him quietly. "I did like you from the minute you set foot in my room."

"I'm sorry about what happened to you," he said. "I'm really sorry."

She smiled sadly again. "I do believe it is time for me to cross over," she said, and Jack nodded, and then suddenly thought of something. "I wanted to see you before they called me again."

"What's your name?" he asked, and she lowered her wispy head.

"Kathleen."

"Oh." He wet his lips. "When you…do go, I…wanted to ask you something."

The ghost of Kathleen stared at him.

"My parents," Jack began softly, "they died in a fire, and I never got to say good-bye to them. Will you tell them, if you see them, that I love them? And that Olivia is all right?"

Kathleen smiled. "I will, Jack." A golden light began to engulf her. "Never change," she whispered. "Good-bye, Jack Dawson."

Jack barely blinked before the room was empty again. He stood facing the spot where the ghost had been standing and shook his head. "I didn't just see that," he whispered, touching his forehead to make sure he didn't have a fever. But it was too real to brush off as a hallucination. He turned on the light, swearing he could hear faintly, once more, a very quiet voice singing sweetly.

_Sayin' weep no more, my own true love,  
I am your long lost John Reilly…_

Jack smiled, peering up into the starry sky. "Good-bye, Kathleen," he whispered. "Good-bye." And at that moment, a shooting star suddenly flashed before his eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

Jack refused to tell anyone about the incident with the ghost in his bedroom. He decided this was one thing he would like to keep private; he was certain Kathleen would have preferred it that way.

The next couple of weeks, however, went by without much incident. Mr. Gleeson was thrilled with Jack's drawings, and wasted no time telling him that he was brilliant, and that they would make him famous without question.

Harry, though having told Jack his feelings about dating someone he worked with, and about the discomfort of dating someone older than himself, began flirting with Bridget at every rehearsal. He hung around her dressing room, his chest puffed out and trying to act manly and important. She merely powdered her nose and would pat his head, telling him to, "Shoo and be a good boy."

"She thinks I'm some kind of joke," Harry told Jack.

"I think you're going about it the wrong way," Jack said, as he began tacking specific drawings to a whiteboard and studying them closely. Harry folded his arms.

"Oh, yeah? And what would you know about women, Jack? Have you ever had a girlfriend, hmm?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "No, but you're acting a bit full of yourself around her. You have to be natural. Don't try so hard."

Harry snorted. "If I act like myself, she won't notice me at all," he grumbled, and Jack patted his shoulder.

"Like you said, what would I know about women? Besides, I have work to do. Mr. Gleeson liked my portraits, but he said he would rather look for a mansion that somewhat fits that design, rather than build one from scratch. To conserve time." He tacked a final drawing to the board just as Mr. Gleeson called his name.

"Jack?" he shouted, and Jack hurried out into the main section of the studio.

"Yes, sir?" he asked, and Mr. Gleeson pointed at Bridget.

"I wanted to discuss when we were going to set up the portrait of Miss Campbell here," he said, and Jack felt his cheeks turn bright red.

"Oh, I…er…" he stuttered, and Bridget chuckled.

"We're a bit behind schedule, but Ed thinks we ought to start working on it today."

Jack nearly dropped his portfolio. "Today?"

"Yes, Jack. We have to make at least one hundred copies of this portrait to hang up around town."

Jack swallowed, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. "S-sure," he stuttered, as Harry came out of the dressing room, fully dressed for rehearsal.

"Shall we say after lunch, then?" Mr. Gleeson asked, glancing at Bridget, who was hiding a smile.

"Yes. That sounds lovely," she said, and Jack looked at Harry.

"Yeah, that's fine," he agreed.

"Oh, and Jack, later this week we need to start scouring the area for mansions to use for the base of the set. I've made some contacts, and I'll take you with me to figure out which house looks the best for the set."

Jack nodded again. "That sounds good," he admitted, still feeling the hot blush in his cheeks.

"All right." Mr. Gleeson pulled his watch out of his pocket and peered at the time. "We'll take an hour lunch break, and then we'll come back and continue our work."

"Jack, perhaps you and I could go and get a bite to eat together," Bridget suggested, and Harry coughed loudly, which sounded remarkably like, "Don't you dare."

"Oh, well…" Jack looked at Harry. "Want to come with us?" he asked. "I'd feel weird leaving Harry to eat by himself."

Mr. Gleeson looked pleased, and waved them on. "Go on, then. Enjoy yourselves. Just remember, be back here by 1:30, all right?"

Jack nodded, and Bridget led the way to the main door. Harry quickly caught up after Jack gave him a nudge with his elbow, and he opened the door.

"Thank you," she told him sweetly, and stepped down to the pavement. "Where shall we dine?" Bridget asked. "I am not very used to these lowly sidewalk cafés."

Jack cleared his throat, hoping he wouldn't sneeze again as he stepped into the sunlight.

"There's a place on Niger Road that I've been to, and it's not the least bit scroungy," Harry suggested.

"All right. As long as the service is quick and timely."

They walked to the café, and Bridget gazed around the tiny place with curiosity. "It is darling!" she exclaimed as the host came to greet them.

"Three, please," Harry told the middle-aged man, who brought them to an empty booth.

"You can slide in first," Harry offered as Jack took his seat, and Bridget chortled.

"Goodness, my dear, no, I never slide," she gasped, and Harry looked at Jack, who was trying not to laugh out loud. After Harry slid towards the window, Bridget sat down very slowly, smoothing her dress.

"Good afternoon." A waiter came to their table. "What may I get for you to drink?"

"Three Coca-Colas," Harry said, but Bridget shook her head.

"Just a cup of tea for me, please," she corrected, and Jack had to cough to hide a laugh.

"Yes, Ma'am. Two colas and a cup of tea. I'll be right back." When the waiter left, Bridget turned to Jack.

"So, Jack, where is it that you are from? Are you from California?"

Harry stared, open-mouthed, at his friend, and Jack blushed crimson again.

"I…er…no," he replied. "I came from Wisconsin, actually. That's where I grew up."

"I see. And do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Jack noticed Harry's lips tightening in a thin line, and chose to ignore it. "Yeah," he replied. "A younger sister. She's still living in Wisconsin with our foster mother."

"A foster mother?"

Jack smiled softly. "Our parents died in a fire," he explained. "And a woman adopted us."

"Oh, dear!" Bridget gasped. "I'm terribly sorry. My mother died of scarlet fever only two years ago," she said. "So I know how difficult it is to lose a parent."

Jack nodded. "It was hard," he agreed, and suddenly felt a sharp kick in the shin.

"Ow!" he cried, alarmed, and Bridget jumped.

"What happened?" she asked, alarmed, and Jack gritted his teeth, reaching under the table.

"Bumped my knee."

"Um…" Harry suddenly spoke. "Jack and I need to have a smoke. We'll be right back."

"Smoke? Dear, didn't you tell me you were asthmatic?" Bridget asked Jack, who scowled.

"I," Harry corrected, "need a smoke."

"Does Jack need to come with you?" Bridget asked, looking suspicious, and Harry nodded.

"Yes, in fact, he does. Excuse me," Harry apologized, and Bridget scooted out so he could stand up. "Jack?" he added, and Jack sighed in annoyance.

"I'm sorry," he quickly apologized, and followed Harry outside.

"What the hell are you doing, Jack?" Harry snapped, once the door closed behind them. "You know I like her!"

"I'm not flirting with her!" Jack argued. "She's flirting with me!"

"And you're not doing anything to stop it," Harry snarled, and Jack rolled his eyes.

"She asked me two questions, Harry. What am I supposed to do, not answer when she talks to me?"

Harry sighed heavily. "Pretend your throat hurts or something," he suggested.

"You're kidding." Jack snorted. "Harry, this is ridiculous. You speak to her, then, if you're so desperate for her attention. I didn't hear you make any introductory comments."

Harry started to say something else, and then looked up at the sky. "Fine. Come on, then."

"We were outside for five seconds," Jack said. "Don't you think she'll find it funny that you smoked a cigarette that fast?"

"You go in, then," Harry replied.

"Aren't you afraid I'll snatch your dream woman?" Jack asked, annoyed, and Harry glared as Jack stormed inside.

"Is everything all right, sir?" the waiter asked, and Bridget looked up from where she sipped from her cup of tea.

"Yes," Jack replied, sitting down. "I'm sorry," he apologized to Bridget, who smiled at him a little too cheerfully. Jack looked down at the table, grateful that he felt no affection whatsoever towards the leading actress. He hoped Harry wouldn't take too long smoking.

"So, Jack," Bridget began. "Are you dating anyone?"

Jack had just taken a sip of his Coke, and nearly choked on it. She looked startled as he quickly reached for a napkin, so he wouldn't spit it all over himself. Thankfully, at that moment, Harry came back in, looking a little kinder, but still stiff as a board. Bridget stood again to let him slide through to the window, and then sat down again.

"So, what were you two talking about?" Harry asked, noticing Jack's bright red face.

"Nothing important," he croaked, still trying to clear the excess soda out from the wrong pipe.

"Harry here is very single," Jack explained, pointing to his friend, who stared again.

"Oh, really?" Bridget asked, sounding bored, and Jack sighed.

"Bridget, I'm sorry, but I…I'm not quite ready to start dating yet."

"With your good looks? My dear, a young man as adorable as yourself, I'm surprised you're not wanting to put yourself out there!" Bridget exclaimed, and it was Harry's turn to choke on his drink.

Jack tapped the edge of the table, and then glanced over his shoulder. "I'm suddenly not feeling really all that hungry," he admitted. "I think I'm going to go for a walk."

"Alone?" she asked, and he looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Jack replied. "Alone."

"He's rather partial to keep to himself, Jack," Harry explained, giving his friend a grateful look after Jack put his money for the drink and the food on the table. "And my hot dog's on me, Harry, if you want it," he added, and, after shooting Bridget a glance, made his way for the main door. He stepped outside onto the pavement, relieved to get away. He leaned against the wall for a moment, rubbing his free hand over his face. It was going to be extremely awkward drawing Bridget naked, especially if she kept hitting on him like this. He sighed, deciding to go for a little walk on the beach. He still had a good forty minutes before he had to return to the studio, and the sea breeze always comforted him when he was feeling stressed out.

Jack smiled as he saw a little girl squealing with delight, clutching the end of a kite string when he got onto the sand. Her father was standing a few feet away, grinning as she begged him to, "Let it go, Daddy! Let it go! I'm gonna make it fly real high this time!"

The father let the kite loose, and the little girl immediately took off down the length of the beach.

Jack passed them, making his way towards the water's edge. A seagull stood picking at the insides of a crab that he had found, and was fluttering its wings in the wind. It let out a surprised squawk when it noticed Jack, and immediately abandoned its prey. Jack watched as it flew high towards the clouds, and shook his head with a smirk.

"Sorry," he apologized, shrugging and making his way towards the rocks. The beach was mostly empty, due to the slightly chillier, windier weather that afternoon. It was still somewhat clear, though clouds, he could tell, were making their way inland.

Jack sat on the rocks and let the ocean spray against his cheeks, periodically checking his watch to make sure he wasn't going to be late going back to work. At 1:15, he decided he would head back to the studio, hoping Bridget and Harry were more comfortable around each other than they seemed to be before he left them.

When he arrived, in fact, Harry pulled him aside. "You're a lifesaver, Jack," he whispered. "Bridget finally seems interested in me! She invited me to her place for a drink tonight."

Jack managed a smile. "Congratulations," he replied, and Harry patted his shoulder.

"Sorry I was short with you before," he apologized, and Jack shook his head.

"It's nothing, really," he insisted. "I'm glad you got her."

Mr. Gleeson called Jack into his office around three and had him sit down.

"Is everything okay?" Jack asked, and Mr. Gleeson nodded.

"We've found the perfect place, Jack, for the outside of the house."

"The outside?"

"I've discovered what we're going to do about the set. I talked this over with the owner of the mansion, and we're going to film the outside of their home for the introduction shot, and then there's a great abandoned barn about a mile down the road that we can fix up for the interior. That way, we won't be disrupting any daily lives, and we can be free to design the mansion however we want."

Jack wet his lips and folded his arms. "That sounds like a good idea," he agreed.

"It'll mean giving you more of an opportunity to show what you can do, Jack. I swear, the mansion I've found looks almost exactly like this drawing of yours." He pointed to the one sketch hanging on the whiteboard. "It's absolutely bloody perfect, boy. Now, I think I'll send Harry home early today, so he won't be around to distract you from drawing Bridget. You'll need all your concentration for that."

Jack wanted to tell Mr. Gleeson how he felt about Bridget's intentions towards him at lunch, but he decided it wasn't appropriate. "All right," he agreed. "What time do you want me to draw her?"

"Well, I'll send Harry home around four, and we'll go from there. But tomorrow, Jack, I'll take you to the mansion and then to the barn to go over what my vision is, and have you sketch it out. Sound like a plan?"

Jack nodded. "It does, Ed." He still felt awkward calling his boss by his first name, though he decided that in time, he would get used to it. After all, he'd only had one real job in his life, so he didn't have a lot of people to compare this man to. However, he knew for a fact that his old hotel manager would have fired him instantly if he called him Morton. _Who would like to be called that name anyway_? Jack thought, smirking a little.

"Good, good. Now it's…eh…3:15, so I'll leave you to decide where the best spot here is to draw Bridget. I'm thinking in her dressing room, but it's surely up to you, Jack. I have to go check on those two lovebirds, however."

Jack blinked as Mr. Gleeson stood up and left the room. Mr. Gleeson was calling Bridget and Harry lovebirds already? Had he spotted them kissing in a corner or something? He shrugged it off, not really interested in Harry's sex life, and decided to take a look around Bridget's dressing room. He could hear her shrill laughter as he walked into the main part of the building, squinting in the dim light. Mr. Atwood stood by one wall, muttering to himself and jotting down notes on a pad.

Jack hadn't spoken to the agent much since he'd read over the contract; it seemed as though Mr. Atwood was too busy trying to keep Edison and his cronies away from their studio.


	16. Chapter 16

At precisely three o'clock, Jack met Bridget in her dressing room. He was blushing furiously, his heart racing. Never before had he been exposed to a naked woman, with the exception of his mother and completely by accident. The thought of having to sketch those delicate features was terrifying, but also very exciting at the same time.

Bridget sat waiting at her vanity, wearing only an emerald green and black kimono. Jack stood in the doorway, not quite certain of what he should do or say. It was bad enough she initially attempted to flirt with him, and though he knew she and Harry had a connection, he wasn't quite sure Bridget was over him yet.

"Well, don't just stand there, you silly boy. Come in! Come in!" Bridget exclaimed, and Jack entered, shutting the door behind them for privacy. He took a seat against the back wall of the room, which gave him plenty of space between himself and the leading actress.

Jack blew out his breath and tried to ignore the fact that his cheeks were rosy from embarrassment. He didn't want to give her any reason to mock him, especially since this was a difficult enough situation. He barely opened his sketchpad when she immediately dropped her kimono, revealing her completely naked body. He gaped in awe, his mouth hanging open.

He went to reach for his charcoal, but the case slipped from his lap and crashed to the floor. Bridget merely chuckled as he scrambled to pick up his supplies, blushing so badly, he felt as though he had sunburn. Eventually Jack managed to relax enough to steady his sketchpad against his knees, and kept telling himself over and over again that nudity was a form of art. After all, didn't the famous sketchers and painters of the past draw naked figures or sculpt them?

If he were to be a true artist, he wanted to be able to express himself without hesitation.

"Where would you like me to pose?" Bridget asked after a few moments of awkward silence, and Jack felt his cheeks warm again. She raised her dark eyes curiously, and for a moment, Jack found himself at a loss for words.

"Er…" He cleared his throat. "I think sitting at your vanity and leaning your chin in your palm would be…um…" He swallowed, his throat very dry. "Very nice." He coughed, apologizing afterwards. Bridget sat as instructed, crossing her legs, and smiled.

"Like this?" she asked, and he nodded. Bridget leaned her chin in her palm, tilting her head ever so slightly. Jack felt a bit faint as he put the charcoal to a blank sheet of paper. The initial drawing, of course, would be the most difficult part of the task. Once he had to make copies, that wouldn't be nearly as hard.

He wet his lips and began to sketch quickly, his deep blue eyes moving up to her figure and back down to the paper. Bridget said nothing as he worked, merely smiling wistfully at him.

Charcoal sketches came so easily to Jack, and he found himself more than halfway done with her portrait at half past three.

"I do wish you would smile," Bridget told him after a while, and Jack felt his cheeks grow warm again with embarrassment. "I do not understand why artists must feel the need to be so serious all the time."

Jack sighed softly, attending to the angle of her long, flowing hair, and glanced at her again. "We're so serious because drawing takes a great deal of concentration," he replied. "Especially when one's career depends on it."

Bridget looked a bit startled by his response, and said nothing for the rest of the session. When he finished, it was a little after 4:30, and he initialed the very bottom right hand corner _JD, August 30, 1898_.

Bridget covered herself with the kimono after he told her to come and look at the drawing if she liked, and she peered over his shoulder, taking the sketchpad out of his hands. He bit back a squeak of surprise when she kissed his cheek, quite pleased by the result, and swept back into her private bathroom.

Jack sat very rigid in his chair, touching his cheek with one hand and holding onto the sketchpad with the other. He shook his head after a moment and stood, scurrying out of the dressing room as fast as he could.

Mr. Gleeson met him a few moments later, with Mr. Atwood at his heels.

"This kid'll make it someday," Mr. Gleeson chortled, clasping a large hand over Jack's shoulder, and Mr. Atwood raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips.

Jack folded his arms; he liked the new manager, but he half wished his work would be criticized from time to time. He was no Leonardo Da Vinci, Degas or Monet…he was merely a fifteen-and-a-half-year-old ruffian.

"Thanks," he replied. "I tried to make her look as natural as possible, doing something she'd normally do at night by herself. She doesn't look as stiff as the advertisements in some of the ladies' magazines these days."

The two men stared at each other and then back at Jack, who smirked. "Not that I read them," he insisted, "but my guardian I was living with last year had a whole stack of them in the parlor, and I couldn't come into the parlor without passing by."

Mr. Gleeson rubbed his mustache just as Harry rushed in, looking breathless. "Is Bridget ready?" he asked, and Jack blinked.

"I'm here!" Bridget cried, her high-heeled shoes clacking along the floor. "I'm sorry, love…the drawing took a bit longer than we thought." She pecked a kiss on Harry's cheek, and glanced at her employers. "Jack's attention to detail is exquisite, you know." She put on her wide-brimmed hat, allowed Harry to take her arm, and both left the building, saying good-bye to the others.

"See you later, Jack," Harry replied, waving his hat at his friend in the meantime.

"Ahem." Mr. Gleeson cleared his throat loudly and turned to Jack. "You'd best get home and work on the rest of those sketches. I want at least fifty finished first thing tomorrow, all right? And tomorrow is an early call, because the three of us are going to take a little visit to our mansion."

Jack nodded, accepting his portfolio back, and slid it under his arm. He didn't go straight home after work, but decided to take another trip to the beach. He walked for a good half hour, letting the sea breeze soothe his sinuses. He'd been feeling considerably better since his most recent asthma attack, but often woke unable to breathe through his nose properly.

A seagull did a dive for his head at that moment, causing him to curse loudly, waving his portfolio at it. The seagull squawked angrily, missing him by an inch as it zoomed towards a clam on the beach, snatching it up in its beak. Jack watched as it flew off, open-mouthed, and then began muttering under his breath. He sneezed twice as he stepped onto the boardwalk, nearly running straight into a lamp post afterwards.

He was grateful when he arrived home and received a letter from Mrs. Logger at the front desk. "Thanks," he replied, recognizing the return address on the envelope at once. Dashing upstairs to his empty room, he flopped down on his bed and tore open the seal. Inside was a two-page letter from his sister in her neat cursive handwriting. Jack fluffed his pillows and leaned against them to be more comfortable, and removed his shoes.

After taking a few eucalyptus leaves from his bedside table, he began to read.

_Dear Jack,_

_Esther and I were thrilled to receive the letter you sent us, and that you are safe and well. I am nearly finished with school, and received high marks all the way through, though not without quite a bit of effort, I assure you. However, I fear my French will always be a bit awful; I am barely fluent, much to Esther's disgust. She feels I am being too lazy, and not putting enough effort into studying, but honestly I am! Languages just do not come easily to me._

_Esther herself is doing quite well, though there is no question age is catching up at last with her. She has retired from the dress shop, and I am taking her place in the summer. She is currently knitting by my side, watching me write to you, which is rather annoying, I'll admit._

_I do wish you would come home, Jack…we both miss you dreadfully. However, I am sure traveling the world is much more exciting than putting up with a baby sister and a crotchety old lady. (I've been whacked over the head with a thimble.)_

Jack laughed at Olivia's little additions to certain sentences, and continued to read the letter with genuine interest. She seemed to be doing quite well without him, though he still felt a tiny bit of guilt for having left Wisconsin so abruptly.

He'd barely gotten to _I give a kiss to your cheek, dear, and I hope to hear from you very soon _when Mrs. Logger came in with a tray for dinner.

"You must be famished." She chuckled, watching as he stood to greet her, and received his thanks. "Did you have a good day?"

Jack nodded. "Yes," he replied. "I have a lot of work to do tonight…fifty drawings by seven tomorrow." He set the tray down on the desk, and she clucked her tongue, smiling at him. She eventually left, and the room returned to its usual stillness. He could hear laughter from the streets below, as residents of Los Angeles began to make their way home from work, or starting on their nightly activities.

He spent over three hours sketching, and by the time he'd reached his twenty-fifth, his hands were aching. Jack set his sketchpad aside, realizing it was only eight o'clock, and groaned inwardly. Massaging his knuckles, he stood to stretch, just as Harry popped his head in.

"Back already?" he asked with a laugh, and his friend came to sit down at his desk.

"Hands cramping yet?" Harry pointed to the pile of sketches at the edge of the bed, and Jack rolled his eyes.

"What made you guess?" he asked, cracking his knuckles, and grimacing as he tried to wave them up and down. "I have twenty-five more to do. Want to help?"

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right," he replied. "I'd probably be fired if I added my own personal touches. Sorry. You're on your own."

Jack sighed heavily, sharpening a fresh piece of charcoal. "Wouldn't be surprised if I decided to give up art altogether after this," he said, and Harry leaned forward, his dark eyes raised with amusement.

"I highly doubt that, Dawson," he said. "Once an artist, always an artist."

Jack smiled, rubbing a hand over his face.

"So, how are things with Bridget? It sounds like you two are really getting serious…I was surprised when you came to pick her up earlier today."

Harry chuckled, adjusting himself in the chair so he was sitting more comfortably. "What's your definition of serious?" he asked, and Jack raised an eyebrow.

"When I talked to Mr. Gleeson the other day, he called you two lovebirds, so clearly he sees something pretty deep going on."

Harry snorted. "Please," he scoffed. "We haven't done it or anything, if that's where you're going with this conversation."

Jack set his portfolio aside, running his fingers through his sandy hair. Even with the window thrust open wide, the room was still sticky in the late summer heat, and he knew sleep would be almost impossible to come by that night. Luckily, though, the humidity wasn't nearly as bad in California as it was in other parts of the country.

"So I guess you're in for the night?" he asked, and Harry nodded.

"Early day tomorrow," he said. "You and Ed are going to see the mansion, aren't you?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah. Be curious to see who lives there, actually. But being in a carriage on a forty minute drive with our two bosses is going to be great fun." He rolled his eyes, picking up his portfolio again.

"Ah…well, you'll survive." Harry winked. "Don't let me stop you," he said, pointing to Jack's supplies. "I'm going to have a shot and pass out. See ya." He waved, and after waving back, Jack turned his attention back to his sketches. He didn't finish the entire fifty until eleven, and his eyes were drooping with exhaustion by that point.

He went downstairs to make himself a cup of tea, and said good night to Mrs. Logger before going back up to bed.

Jack lay awake for a good while despite his exhaustion, watching as the moon rose higher and higher in the sky. He saw another shooting star amidst the street lights, listening to the sound of a sad hymn being played on the parlor piano.


	17. Chapter 17

Jack was up earlier than usual the following morning, and was quite amused by how difficult a task it was to wake Harry. His friend had clearly taken in more than a shot the night before, because Harry admitted to having a crushing headache.

"How many did you drink before going to bed?" Jack asked as they stumbled downstairs after dressing, passing Mrs. Logger, who tried to draw them in for breakfast. Neither of them were in the mood, but accepted pieces of toast to take along anyway.

"I don't know," Harry grumbled as they walked along the sidewalk, enjoying the quiet. The town of Los Angeles didn't get noisy until at least lunchtime, and they would be in the studio by that point. "Two?" Harry gave a half-hearted shrug and practically ran headfirst into a pole holding up a café's awning. Jack burst out laughing as he steered Harry in the proper direction and gave him a pat on the back.

"I think you've learned your lesson for next time," he said, and Harry gave Jack a look of irritation. They eventually went into the studio around 7:30, where Mr. Gleeson was helping hook up one of the carriages. Mr. Atwood stood on the stoop of the building, jotting something down on a notepad, and glanced up just as Jack and Harry approached.

"Ah…" he greeted. "Morning."

Jack started to respond, but yawned right in the middle of it. "Sorry," he apologized, and looked at Harry, who was getting instructions from Mr. Gleeson. When the young actor disappeared into the building, Mr. Gleeson ordered Jack and Mr. Atwood into the carriage.

"Harry and Bridget will be taking care of things around the studio," he explained once the two men were in the front and Jack was in the back. "Plus, it'll give them a chance to really get comfortable with each other without our interference. All right, Jack?" He glanced over his shoulder, and Jack nodded, holding tightly onto his sketchpad.

It was a beautiful early September day, and the sun made Jack feel very sleepy as they drove along the paved and dirt roads. He tried his best to stay awake, but within the first half hour, eventually dozed off against the edge of the open window. The heat caused beads of sweat to pop out on his forehead, and he sleepily dragged a hand across it to wipe them away.

Mr. Gleeson peered behind him at last to announce their arrival about an hour later, and smirked when he saw his employee sound asleep. He chuckled when Jack gave a loud snore, and turned to Mr. Atwood with a look of amusement on his face.

"Kid!" Mr. Atwood hissed once the carriage pulled to a stop, and he leaned over to give Jack's shoulder a shake. Jack merely let out a soft moan and shifted positions, too comfortable to wake up.

"Jack!" Mr. Gleeson added, shaking the boy a bit more roughly, and Jack's eyes eventually snapped open. He looked a bit confused for a moment, and after straightening up, realized where he was.

"Sleep much last night, Dawson?" Mr. Atwood asked with a smirk on his face, and Jack was grateful the heat made his cheeks crimson.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's getting a bit hot." He blinked in the bright sun as he stepped out of the carriage, and all three stood facing the mansion at the bottom of the great hill.

"So, this is it?" Mr. Atwood asked, pointing, and Mr. Gleeson checked the slip of paper on which he'd jotted the address and nodded.

"Yep…1400 Dorsal Lane. That's it right there." He looked at Jack, who sneezed suddenly, and both men stared at him with wide eyes. Jack refused to say anything, and they didn't press him on the matter. Eventually, the three descended the hill. Jack tripped over one of the gopher holes, and Mr. Gleeson had to catch him by the scruff of the neck.

"Watch it," Mr. Atwood warned once Jack straightened up, and they walked the rest of the way. They approached a great wooden door, where a large black iron knocker sat ready and waiting. Mr. Gleeson volunteered to do the honors, and Jack stood beside the agent, waiting anxiously for someone to answer.

While he stood with nothing to do, Jack peered around. The grounds were very widespread, and a dense wood surrounded the property just like his parent's farm in Wisconsin. The door opened at last, and a woman appeared. She was tall and blonde, adorned in a white lace dress and pearls around her neck.

"Good morning, Lady Morton," Mr. Gleeson greeted cheerfully, just as Jack broke into another sneezing fit due to the strong scent from the mansion's nearby gardens. Mr. Atwood practically shoved him inside once Lady Morton invited them to follow her, and the two men shook their heads at him.

"Sorry," Jack squeaked as they were brought into a great parlor.

"I knew you were coming today, but unfortunately my husband went on an early morning hunt and is not quite back yet. But if you will sit down and make yourselves comfortable, I'll ring the maid to bring us some tea."

Mr. Gleeson started to insist that wasn't necessary, but she waved her hand and rang the bell sitting on the writing desk. As they sat, Lady Morton--her first name was Elizabeth--asked them all sorts of questions about the film. "Needless to say, we were quite honored when we discovered you'd be using our mansion for part of the scenery," she told them with a big smile on her pale face.

"We were thinking of using the interior, as well, at one point," Mr. Gleeson explained. "But that would invade your privacy too much. That's why we have this young man sitting here…he's our artist, and will be constructing plans of an interior for the set."

Jack blushed crimson again as Lady Morton turned her attention on him. "How old are you, dear?" she asked. "You can't be any older than thirteen!"

Jack scowled. "Actually, I turn sixteen next month," he replied, and she gasped with surprise.

"My goodness. You have such a sweet young face," she added, and Jack stole a glance at his manager, who was clearly trying not to laugh out loud.

The maid eventually arrived and brought them a tray of tea, a mug of which Jack accepted gratefully. "Thanks," he told her, and when the young maid bowed her head and left, he turned to Lady Morton.

"So, tell me," she began, leaning back against the couch. "What is this picture about? You did not specify in your letter."

Both Jack and Mr. Atwood choked on their tea, and turned to stare at Mr. Gleeson with wide eyes. At that very moment, Lord John Morton appeared, saving Mr. Gleeson from the embarrassing task of explaining the basic plot of a pornography film. All three guests stood at once when he arrived, and shook hands with the owner of the mansion.

"Yes, yes. We were expecting you." Lord Morton chuckled. "Do sit down. I see you've had refreshment already. Would you care for anything else while you're here?"

"No, thank you," they replied in unison, and when Lord Morton took his seat, the question was tossed into the open again.

Mr. Gleeson tried to appear as calm as possible when he explained the situation, and much to their surprise, the couple was pleased.

"It's brilliant when artists break out of the old-fashioned shell," Lord Morton said, pounding his fist on the table. "Quite honestly, my wife and I believe nudity is indeed a form of art. Come here and have a look at some of the statues we've collected over the past year or so."

Jack followed his bosses after Lord Morton, with Lady Morton following close behind. They discovered that the Mortons had collected tons of nude statues, and even stored nude paintings in a couple of private rooms.

"Ah…" Mr. Atwood breathed. "I see."

"My husband was a painter when he was much younger," Lady Morton spoke up. "He was always looking for fresh subjects. That's me, right there, at seventeen."

Jack saw a nude portrait hanging just above their bed, and turned to stare at Lord Morton.

"I just drew my first nude portrait two days ago," he said, and Mr. Atwood looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Was it awkward for you?"

Lord Morton shook his head. "No, lad, not truly. I'd been married to Lady Morton for a year at that point, so it seemed only natural."

Mr. Gleeson looked very surprised to discover how well their new clients would handle the information regarding the film, especially given the nature of society these days. Even though people were trying to break from the prim Victorian ways of life, there were more than enough who felt it was just fine to stay how they were.

"I appreciate this, Lord Morton," he said, shaking hands with the tall, cheerful man. "We honestly weren't sure how you would react to having your home subject to this."

Lord Morton pulled Jack aside and told him to continue working on his art. "One day," he began as they made their way towards the entrance of the mansion, "I hope you'll make it to Europe. The scenery is fantastic, and let's just say the residents of most countries, particularly France, are willing to er…pose." He winked, and Jack grinned.

"I hope to go someday, sir," he replied, shaking hands with Lord Morton.

After being invited to eat lunch with the couple, Jack, Mr. Gleeson, and Mr. Atwood decided to head back to the studio around two o'clock. Even though the visit started off as being rather awkward, Jack admitted he had a good time altogether.

He couldn't actually fall asleep on the journey back, but tried to focus on something more pleasant. Lord Morton's suggestion of Europe stuck in the back of his mind, and he knew he would have to go one day. Not right then, of course, because he could barely afford to travel from one end of the United States to the other.

Still, he knew the time was approaching when he'd have to leave again; he was starting to feel very claustrophobic in California. _Even though I've only been here a month, _he thought with a sigh, and leaned his chin in his palm.

When Jack brought up the subject to Harry at dinner, his friend listened intently.

"Maybe you could travel to New York for now," he suggested. "There's always something to do there, and you could make enough money to travel to Europe."

Jack thought for a moment. He'd never been to New York, but knew his father's parents arrived there from Ireland years and years before.

"Maybe," he replied. "I was talking to Lord Morton, who was an artist himself, and he told me to try to go to France. But unfortunately, I know I won't be able to afford it for a long time."

Harry shrugged. "That might not necessarily be true, Jack," he said. "Luck changes. Actually…" He paused. "I wasn't sure when I would tell you this, because we haven't had a chance to spend time alone together since production started."

Jack took a sip from his Coke and stared, not quite sure what was coming. His friend tapped the table with his fingers, looking very awkward indeed, and finally blew out his breath.

"I did something crazy, Jack," he began. "I asked Bridget to marry me."

Jack choked on his Coke, having to grab a napkin and avoid drenching the tablecloth.

"Excuse me?" he gasped once he managed to calm down, and Harry smirked.

"I love her, Jack," he explained. "I know we haven't been together long, but she's of marrying age and so am I."

"So?" Jack cried. "That doesn't mean anything…" He leaned back. "What did she say?"

Harry beamed. "She said yes," he replied. "Jack, she said yes!"

Jack's mouth hung open wide; he certainly hadn't been expecting this.

A few moments of silence passed, and Harry looked truly uncomfortable. "Say something, Jack," he begged, and Jack blinked.

"Wow," he breathed, and Harry stared at him. "Con—congratulations," he added. "When is the wedding?"

Harry sighed, no longer having any interest in his dinner. "Next August," he replied. "Unfortunately, Bridget's father expects her to marry a man with money, and…well…I'm not the richest chap on the planet. So let's just say we're secretly engaged…her parents don't know, and I'm going to work as long and as hard as I can until I make enough to be considered worthy of her hand."

Jack wet his lips. "I had no idea it was that serious," he said, and Harry smiled.

"You'll come to the wedding, won't you?" he asked, and Jack frowned.

"Er…" he began, and Harry sighed.

"I know you're planning on leaving after the film's over, but would you at least consider coming back?"

Jack lowered his head, unsure of how to answer. "I don't know," he replied. "Harry, it's nothing against you or Bridget. I'm really very happy for the both of you, but I honestly don't know where I'll be by next August. As you said, my luck might change, and I may be in Europe by then, or at least en route. I don't want to make a promise I might not be able to keep."

Harry nodded in understanding. "Well, I suppose we'll let the chips fall where they may." He shoved his plate away and glanced at his watch. "Getting late," he announced, standing. "Are you ready to go?"

Jack glanced around; the café they'd gone to for dinner was not too crowded, and he wasn't quite ready to be in the dimness of his bedroom just yet.

"I think I'll stay here a while," he replied, and Harry nodded.

"Okay," he replied. "I'll see you tomorrow, then." He put his share of the money on the table, and after he left, Jack sighed heavily, leaning his chin in his palm.

"Might I get something else for you, dear?" the waitress asked, coming over with her order pad, and Jack glanced at her.

"Actually, a cup of coffee would be nice," he replied.

"Would you like a bit of cream in it?"

"Just plain, thanks," he added, and she left him alone. When he received his coffee, he sat sipping at it for a good period of time, watching as customers got up and left. Eventually, he had to leave himself, because the café was getting ready to close.

"Hope to see you soon, Jack," the waitress told him, and he stared at her, shocked that she already knew him by name.

"Thanks," he said, and quickly left the building.

As he walked back to his flat, he gazed at the California landscape. It wasn't a bad place to live, but he felt very nomadic at times. _I'll wonder if anyplace will tie me down and satisfy me, _he thought as he climbed the steps and opened the front door, greeting Mrs. Logger at her desk.

"Good day?" she asked, and he looked at her wearily.

"I don't think I'm cut out for this," he replied, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Feeling restless, are we?" She chuckled. "I can see in your eyes that you're not happy here, Jack."

He fiddled with the binding on his portfolio and hesitated to answer. "It's not that I'm not happy," he replied. "I just don't like being tied down, you know?"

She smiled fondly. "Well, go and rest, Jack, and see how you feel in the morning. Perhaps it's just been a stressful day for you." She waved her hand as she continued filling in the account books, and Jack smiled back, making his way up the stairs.


End file.
